Death of a Ghost
by Angeleyez
Summary: When Jess returns to Stars Hollow to visit his mom, he discovers that Rory has erased him from her life. Permanently.
1. 1

**Title**: Death of a Ghost

**Author**: Angeleyez

**Summary**: When Jess returns to Stars Hollow to visit his mom, he discovers that Rory has erased him from her life. Permanently.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Gilmore Girls_ or the film _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_.

**A/N**: All events up to and including Rory's disastrous dinner with the Huntzbergers happened. After that, it becomes AU, so no internship or Yale freak-out. This story is loosely based on _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_. However, only the company (Lacuna Ltd.) is borrowed. For those of you who have seen it, don't expect a trip through Jess's mind – this story is different from the film. It doesn't matter if you've seen the movie though, all will be explained in the story. Questions, however, can be emailed to me.

>

The radio died somewhere back on I-95, so he was stuck with this white kind of noise, like crinkling paper mixed with genderless voices. The road was uneven, and every pothole sent him careening into the steering wheel, his chest mashing his fingers against the horn. The trip was absurd and while with a purpose, it held nothing for him, and these constant annoyances had already sent him over the edge. Next time Liz phoned him threatening to throw herself off a building if he didn't get his ass to Stars Hollow, he would wish her a safe flight and hang the fuck up.

It was nearly six when he rolled into town and pulled alongside Luke's. The sidewalks were empty besides the occasional business owners opening up shop, and no one was in the diner. Jess lingered outside in front of the window, wondering how long he could go unnoticed.

According to his watch, three minutes and seventeen seconds. Luke saw him as he exited the storeroom, his arms full of condiments. The ketchup and mustard didn't make a sound as they hit the floor, and spun into chairs, disappearing under tables. Luke, on the other hand, was thunderous as he demanded an immediate explanation from Jess despite the sheet of glass that separated them. Jess shrugged, just to be difficult.

"What are you doing here?" Luke repeated once Jess was inside. The question was void of the hostility that Jess had long ago become accustomed. Instead, it had been replaced with mild interest and a hint of concern.

"Liz has been harassing me."

Luke frowned. "I'm not sure you should be here."

"Liz wanted to have some kind of small party for her," Jess swallowed dryly, "'favorite guys'. She begged me to show up. So here I am… showing up."

"You came for Liz?" Luke asked, folding his arms over his chest. He was slipping into guardian mode, which put Jess on red alert. He hated when Luke's tone switched to authoritarian; it didn't fit their relationship. Jess had a bad habit of reverting to sarcasm and one-word answers, and the rest crumbled from there.

"Yes."

"This isn't about Rory?"

Jess glared, furious that his reappearance was so readily connected with a girl he hadn't spoken with in eighteen months. The anger shot through him like an adrenaline rush, leaving his blood bubbling with confrontation. He was struck with the sudden thought that nothing ever changed.

"I came here to see Liz. I'll be here for a couple of days, and then I'm gone."

"Look, Jess – " The apology died on his lips. Luke shifted uncomfortably, wondering if now was the time to tell him, or if he should wait. There was no right time to sit down and tell Jess; Luke had hoped that this was something he could keep from him, a destructive little secret that Jess never had to know.

"You staying here?" Luke asked. With Jess in the diner, there was some form of protection. He would be stashed away for the most part, leaving only to see Liz. Jess knew the drill. He would avoid everyone, including – Luke hoped – Rory.

"If that's okay," Jess replied through gritted teeth.

"I got rid of your bed."

"Okay."

"But the couch is still there. Right where it's always been."

"Great," Jess said.

"Yeah, great," Luke repeated. "Well, I have to, you know…" He gestured over his shoulder, toward the storeroom.

"Get back to work?" Jess supplied.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Jess stood in the middle of the diner, listening to the muffled sounds of Luke ripping open boxes and rearranging jars on wooden shelves. He surveyed his surroundings and found everything to be the same. There were still tables for two dotted with napkin dispensers and salt and peppershakers, with identical chairs positioned on either side, the same cushions with the same tears he had taped when he was last here. He turned in a circle, touched a table. Being here was like stumbling through a rip in time, walking in on what his life used to be.

With nothing else to do, he shifted into busboy mode and gathered up the scattered condiment bottles and set them on the counter. He picked up each individually, judging which ones needed to be refilled and which would last another day. After separating them into two groups, he went into the kitchen, and grabbed the heavy duty ketchup and mustard containers and lugged them back to the counter. By the time Luke reentered, he had already refilled the bottles and was in the middle of setting them on the tabletops.

"You don't have to do that," Luke said.

"It's fine."

"Why don't you go get your stuff?" Luke suggested. "Take a nap? It's early and you must have been on the road for a couple of hours."

"I'm fine," Jess answered tersely. "I'll help you open."

Luke hesitated before conceding. It was early yet, and Lorelai and Rory wouldn't be there for hours.

"Maybe you'll save that nap for around lunch?"

Jess shot him a look. "You don't have to hide me, Luke. Just say the word and I'll disappear."

>

Between the hours of ten and twelve, Luke called Lorelai's house four times, her cell phone three times, and the inn twice. No one answered at home or picked up her cell, but Michel intercepted both calls to the inn, assuring Luke with an increasingly irritated tone that Lorelai was _not _there, and would not be for some time because she had taken the morning off.

(This was not good. Not good at all.)

The morning passed without conflict as Jess quietly helped around the diner as if he had never left. The town reacted relatively quiet to his abrupt return, saving their whispers and mumbles for outside. They even kept the staring to a minimum. In return, Jess curbed his sarcasm and infamous rudeness and everything progressed smoothly.

Eventually though, Lorelai and Rory would stop in for lunch, and Luke would have a very large problem on his hands. The fluidity of the morning would be shattered in favor of a chaotic afternoon, and Luke was not looking forward to the fallout. He had to tell Jess. There was no other way.

"I need to talk to you," Luke mumbled discreetly as Jess rang up a customer.

"Then talk," Jess replied. He slammed the cash register drawer shut and ripped off the receipt, handing it to the customer.

"I mean in private."

Jess frowned at his uncle. "It's the lunch rush, and you want to take me aside?"

"This is important, Jess."

The clatter of two plates slamming onto the steel counter startled both men. They turned and saw Caesar looking sheepish.

"Sorry," Caesar said. "I'm just trying to keep up."

"I got it." Jess grabbed the dishes and swung around the counter, serving the couple in front of the window. Luke followed close behind.

"Jess – " Luke cut himself off when he spotted Rory outside. "Oh, great." He grabbed Jess by the elbow and dragged him over to the curtain.

"Hey!" Jess protested. "Watch it!"

"Upstairs," Luke demanded.

Jess batted his uncle away. "I saw Rory and look, the world didn't end," he snapped. "She'll come in, she'll see me, she'll frown, but that's that. You're freaking out over nothing."

Luke saw Rory cross the street and gulped. "You need to listen."

"No, Luke, you need to listen. Sooner or later, we'll run into each other. If not now then tomorrow, or next time I visit. Just – "

"She's not going to recognize you."

"What?" Jess narrowed his eyes. He was pretty sure his uncle had lost it.

"She's not going to know who you are," Luke explained.

"What are you – "

Luke cut him off. "Just go upstairs. Let me serve her, and then I'll explain."

The bell rang and Jess turned, expecting to see a startled Rory. He could see it unfolding in his head: shock into anger into indifference. He expected cold acknowledgement and a quick dismissal with the turn of her head. But her expression didn't change.

"Hi, Luke." She looked at Jess, but said nothing.

"Hi, Rory." Luke was nervous. It wasn't often that Jess heard him so nervous. "This is my nephew," Luke introduced. "This is Jess."

There was no cataclysmic event. The sky didn't fall, the windows didn't shatter. Rory only smiled and offered her hand. "I'm Rory."

Jess opened his mouth to speak but couldn't make a sound. He studied her face closely, waiting for a sign of deception or amusement. He tried to return her formal gesture, but his movements were unsteady; his arm jerked as his hand slid into hers.

She squeezed his palm. "It's nice to meet you."

He watched as they shook, his fingers wrapped around hers. He said, "Rory?"

"Lorelai, actually." She let go of his hand but he didn't move. For a moment, his arm hung awkwardly, clutching empty air. "But my mom's name is Lorelai. And having Lorelai One and Lorelai Two would get really confusing. Especially with my great-grandmother having been a Lorelai too."

Jess didn't believe this. Not for one second. Rory was taking her habits of avoidance and denial a little too far.

"Jess, can we go upstairs now?" Luke asked. "Rory, I'll be right back down to take your order."

"Sure, take your time."

Luke pushed Jess through the curtain, and kept a hand on his back all the way up the stairs. Once inside the apartment, Jess snapped back into life.

"What the hell was that?"

"Jess – "

"'Hi, Rory, this is my nephew, Jess?'" He clenched his fists. "Is this some kind of game?"

"She doesn't know you. She has no memory of who you are."

Jess stared hard at his uncle, his stance rigid. "You're serious?"

"I'm serious."

"She hit her head? Get into an accident?" Jess shook his head, amused. "Or is this a serious case of repression? I guess dating me was pretty traumatic."

"Look, Jess, Rory had this…" He waved his hand, try to think of the right word. "This procedure done."

"Procedure?" Jess echoed.

"There's this company," Luke began. "It performs this procedure that erases memories of a person you want to forget. They make it like that person never existed."

Jess was stiff, lifeless. He touched his neck to remind himself he was real, but he couldn't find a pulse. "She…erased me?"

Luke wished he were somewhere else, anywhere else. "Yeah."

"She erased me." Jess laughed, snapping out of his momentary stupor. The sound was so unexpected and unfamiliar that Luke jumped. "That's good, Luke. Did Rory and Lorelai put you up to this?"

"Jess…"

"This is a good one." Jess wagged a finger at his uncle, chastising him. "You got me good." He strode past Luke, down the stairs, emerging in the diner to find Lorelai at the counter, beside her daughter.

"Jess." Lorelai tilted her head, her smile forced. "Wow, Rory said you were here and I didn't believe her. But look, here you are… here!"

"Just for a couple of days," Jess replied, looking at Rory.

"Only a couple of days? Gee, you can't stay any longer?" Lorelai was breathless, losing steam.

"Can we have a couple of coffees?" Rory asked politely. She was simple and direct, speaking in a formal tone to a waiter whose name she didn't need to remember. He was superfluous; he stared and stared and knew she was thinking that.

"Any town festivals this week?" he asked suddenly. He had to play along to gauge the situation. Rory was screwing with him and everyone was, of course, on her side. He had to turn this around, stop the game.

"Uh," Lorelai drew out the word, pretending to give it serious thought. "None that I can think of."

"No bid-a-basket festival?" He gripped the counter, waiting. "The dance marathon? That should be coming up."

Lorelai's mouth was a thin, hard line. Her expression was clearly a warning, a whisper of _don't_ directed toward Jess. She said, "Make those coffees to go."

Jess turned and picked up the pot, the bottom warm, the aroma rich and fresh. "I have to make more," he said quickly, shoving the pot back onto the counter. "This is old."

"That's fine." Lorelai already had her hand in her purse, searching for cash. "We'll take it."

"It'll only take a few minutes."

"It's fine," Lorelai repeated. "We like old."

"No we don't," Rory spoke up. "If we have the opportunity for fresh coffee, we take it. It's a Gilmore rule."

"Well then, we'll go to Al's. He has fresh coffee."

As Rory and Lorelai debated the matter, Jess put on a new pot. He drummed his fingers against the counter, waiting for an opening. He pounced as soon as Lorelai paused.

"You go to Yale, right?"

Rory lit up at the mention of her school. "Yeah, I just started my junior year."

"Read any good books for class?" He caught her eye then, and the contact held, if only for a moment.

"Not really." She shrugged, disinterested. "I'm not a big reader."

He felt the shock, the rumble of inside nerves. He knew that everything Luke had said was untrue; he _knew_. In his junior year of high school, he pursued Rory Gilmore. In his senior year, he dated her. In the end, he left her. He could recite all the books they had read together and apart; he remembered the dates they had been on, all the movies they had seen, including the ones that were rented and never watched, instead left on the coffee table as he kissed her on the couch. He remembered the delicious feeling of falling in love with her; he felt it still, like a hollow wound, an old memory that can never be forgotten. He remembered the sharp violence of pretending to fall out.

"Really," he said, trying so hard to sound passive. He was growing pale; he could imagine the sight, the color pouring from his skin.

"I used to when I was younger," Rory explained thoughtfully. "And then I just… stopped."

"Rory," Lorelai broke in. "We have to get going. We have that thing."

"What thing?"

"That thing. You _know_." Her words were heavy with sincerity as if she really expected her daughter to recall the made-up event that would save them from this situation. Rory didn't even realize anything was wrong.

"But what about our coffee?"

Lorelai waved a dismissing hand. "It's just coffee."

Rory's mouth dropped open. "This thing must really be important."

"Yes, incredibly, life-altering-ly important."

Lorelai grabbed her daughter's wrist, half-dragging her to the door. She didn't pause to say goodbye to Jess. He was sure that both would leave without a second thought, until Rory turned her head. It was the subtlest of glances, the smallest of smiles, but in it, he caught the faint scent of a memory. He saw her walking with Dean but looking over her shoulder, trying to catch private acknowledgment in the form of eye contact. He saw her standing in the lobby at the Bracebridge Dinner as they shared that smile, hinting of things to come.

"Jess." Luke was by his side. "The company sent this to Rory's friends and family to, uh, make sure they didn't…" He stopped, too uncomfortable to continue. "Here, just take it."

Luke handed him a piece of paper; it was small and thick, identical to a subscription card of a magazine. It said:

_Rory Gilmore has had Jess Mariano erased from her memory. Please never mention their relationship to her again. Thank you._

Lacuna Ltd.  
610 11th Avenue, NY, NY

Jess tried to remember walking through New York City, down sidewalks, taking shortcuts through unfamiliar streets. Had he walked past this building? Had he been in New York when Rory came to get rid of him, steadfast in her decision that his existence was a bigger problem than his absence? This was worse than a disappearance, than a death.

"This is real." It wasn't a question.

"I saw Rory the day before she did it and the day after." One day Jess had been that weight, pressing in on her, and the next, he was gone. "They do it overnight. They – "

"I'm gonna take that nap now," Jess said.

Luke nodded, understanding. "Go ahead. I'll finish up here."

>

"What was that all about?" Rory asked, trotting to keep up with her mother's brisk pace.

"What was what?"

"The quick exit? The big thing we have to get to?" Rory grabbed Lorelai's arm in an attempt to stop her, but only succeeded in being dragged along.

"I'm just not comfortable around that guy."

"Jess?" At Lorelai's nod, Rory clarified, "Luke's Jess? You've met him before?"

"Uh, yeah, and believe me, he is not a guy you want to get to know."

Rory returned to the diner in her mind, sitting across from an attractive young man that appeared friendly enough. She thought he had looked interesting; maybe a little mysterious. "He didn't look all that bad."

"Well, you don't know him like I do." Lorelai may have been stretching the truth, but she knew she had to say anything that would keep Rory away from him. Jess was in the past. Permanently. A reunion now would screw up everything Rory had done to move on.

"What has he done? What makes him so bad?"

Lorelai cursed her daughter's inquiring mind. "He, um, he's very rude."

"Okay."

"His sarcasm is lethal."

"As yours tends to be," Rory pointed out.

"Yeah, well, he kicks puppies!" Lorelai wrinkled her nose, waiting for her daughter's reaction.

Rory stifled a laugh, trying to be serious. "Ah, now I see."

"Really. I saw him approach a puppy once and go, 'hey, watch out now, I'm going to kick you!'" Lorelai raised her voice in mock indignation, swinging her purse to emphasize her point.

"You're insane."

Lorelai sighed. Fine. "He's a high school dropout with nomadic tendencies and no direction in life."

Rory pursed her lips, considering this.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Lorelai was incredulous. "You flip out whenever someone says they're not going to college. I figured you'd crucify a dropout."

"Is he violent?"

"Not recently."

"Does he rob liquor stores? Beat up old ladies?" Rory's eyes were shining now, sparkling with amusement.

"Not that I've seen."

"Does he apply his gel with a switchblade?"

"Hey, that's never been disproved."

"Just because he's a dropout doesn't mean he's a bad person," Rory explained reasonably.

"I hate your humanistic point of view. One of these days, it'll change. I'll turn you into a cynic yet."

Rory rolled her eyes. "I'm looking forward to it."

"So, you'll be careful around him?"

"Hey, if I see him walking menacingly toward any puppies, I'll be sure to run."

Lorelai nodded. "Thank you."


	2. 2

Chapter Two

After Liz caught wind of Jess's return, she immediately phoned the diner, insisting her party be held that evening. She was surprised with Jess's quick agreement to attend, not realizing how eager he was to leave town. If all went well, he could drive back to New York that night.

Liz's house was small and quaint, the quintessential Stars Hollow home. It was painted a soft blue with white shudders and a matching picket fence. It reminded Jess of a black and white sitcom full of family ties and thirty-minute life lessons, like _Donna Reed _or _Leave it to Beaver_. It was so far from city life and the surroundings he was accustomed to seeing his mother in that he did a double take when she met him at the door.

He was used to a grungier looking Liz; in the past, she had sported ripped jeans and tight T-shirts with bedraggled hair. Her eyes had always been rimmed in red, bloodshot and dilated and very wide. Back then, he had viewed his mother through a filter of high expectations and piercing disappointment. But tonight was different. Tonight, she resembled a reserved housewife, dressed in pressed black pants and a wool sweater. Tonight, he had nothing to hope for.

"Jess! You came! I called and you came!" She pulled him into a hug and he patted her back, uncomfortable with the warm welcome. She punched Luke on the shoulder, and dragged him off to the kitchen, insisting that she needed help.

Jess ended up in the living room with TJ. The air buzzed with awkward tension, leaving both men stiff, fearful that any movement would attract unnecessary attention – or worse, eye contact. Jess hadn't seen TJ since Liz's wedding (a day he preferred to forget), and he had never really warmed to him as a person, let alone his new stepfather. TJ wasn't much more comfortable with the idea of having a grown stepson preprogrammed to hate every man in his mother's life.

Jess passed the time by exploring the living room from his seat on the couch. His eyes wandered across the walls where framed photographs hung in neat groups. Smaller photos were stuck in inexpensive collages, circles and squares of Jess, Luke, TJ, Liz. Jess had never had photos on the wall growing up. Back then, the past was the past, slipping away as soon as it happened. If he wanted to hold on to something, he had to remember it himself.

The sweet scent of a home cooked meal floated in from the kitchen. It was strangely unfamiliar. It wasn't as if Liz had never cooked for him, but it was also the matching furniture and the idea of family coming over for supper. Now, all grown up, he was seeing everything together, pieces that fit fluidly. It was simultaneous: dinner, family, furniture picked out beforehand, arranged with thought, moved again and again until everything was in its place. Jess was getting a glimpse of a genuine home, something he had missed out on. Liz was the real one now, while he was the one written out.

"So Jess, what time did you get here today?" Liz asked as she bounced out of the kitchen.

"Early."

"Uh huh, I see." Liz was grinning, ecstatic at her son's one-word answer. It had been too long since she had seen him. Their means of communication was the telephone, but most were missed calls.

"How's work?"

"It's fine." At Liz's eager stare, he continued. "I just finished that construction job at the elementary school."

"That's great! And you're still a messenger?"

"Still a messenger." For the past couple of years, his life had been made up of temporary part-time jobs. He was having trouble finding permanency in anything he did.

"And how's that girlfriend of yours? Um, Brit – no, that wasn't it. Bree – no…"

"Brynn?" Jess said.

"Yes! How's Brynn?" Liz grinned as if she had just won a prize.

"I couldn't tell you."

"Oh, Jess, don't tell me you two broke up."

Jess grimaced, surprisingly unhappy with the disappointment in his mother's voice. It was as if he couldn't do this thing, this one thing, to make her happy. "We went on two dates. The end."

"Why was it the end?"

"Should I begin with my issues or hers?"

Luke stuck his head into the living room. "I'm done making dinner. Should I eat it myself too?"

"Oh, Luke, come on. I was halfway finished when you came," Liz defended, trailing after her brother.

Jess heard Luke's muffled reply ("You had an empty pot on a stove!") as the door swung shut. He looked over at TJ.

"So we should…" TJ nodded.

"Yeah, sure, sure. Let's eat."

>

Liz barely touched her dinner. She was too preoccupied with staring at everyone else, making sure they were enjoying their meal. She kept asking if anyone needed anything, and would stand at a moment's notice, ready to grab extra napkins, another drink, a clean fork to replace the one dropped. Each man regarded her suspiciously but said nothing.

It was after the dishes were cleared away, and the leftover lasagna was shoved into the refrigerator that Liz clapped her hands, announcing that she had something very important to say. She herded the guys into the living room, sitting them on the couch. A hand splayed over her chest, she giggled.

"Now, it's true I wanted to see my Jess, and I love it when Luke joins us for dinner, but I do have an announcement."

"Divorce?" Jess whispered to Luke.

"You have an announcement?" TJ asked. "Should I know what this is? You told me, didn't you?"

"No, no, TJ, this is a surprise for you too. Are you ready?" She stared expectantly at the three men squeezed onto the too small couch. "I'm pregnant!"

>

The air vent was beneath the sofa, but Jess could still hear the faint tinkling of bells as the diner door opened. The voices were muffled, but Jess recognized the gruff tone of Luke and the softer sound of Lorelai. He turned onto his side and buried his face in the cushion. He wished he was in his car, on his way back to the city, instead of stuck on Luke's sofa for a night of tossing and turning.

He didn't know why he had stayed. The awkward silence after Liz's announcement had driven him to chain-smoking on her front porch, even though he had been trying so hard to quit for the past month. Halfway through his third cigarette, Luke had come outside, yanked him off the porch, and dragged him back to the diner. Somewhere in the shuffle, Jess had lost the words 'I'm leaving' and he had yet to find them.

"Another kid? It's crazy!" Luke yelled downstairs. "We'll get a watered down version of Jess, some sarcastic baby with an etch-a-sketch permanently attached to his hip!"

Jess held his breath, waiting for Lorelai's response, but she spoke too softly. He could hear her voice, but the words were shapeless, wisps of smoke caught in the vent.

Luke's rant began again and Jess stuffed a pillow over his head, desperate to fall asleep. He didn't want to hear everything Liz had done wrong with him, a long list that Luke was surely about to get into. Jess would prefer not to think about Liz's pregnancy at all. There was a stigma attached to the thought; it plagued him, until he was sick with it, the knowledge that in nine months Liz would have a baby and the phone calls would stop coming.

"In a few years, Liz will be knocking on my door, begging me to take the kid off her hands."

There was a pause, and Jess imagined Lorelai touching Luke's hand over the counter, a sweet smile shared, relief offered. Lorelai's voice was still too quiet, although Jess thought he heard the word "changed". He hoped he had misunderstood, that Lorelai hadn't suggested Liz had changed, that now it was different, _she_ was different. How could Lorelai be so open to the idea that Liz could mature and become a better person, when she refused to change her opinion of him?

The anger rocked through his body. It left him terribly empty, like a lifelong hunger that can never be sated. His mind was so filled with thoughts of Liz and Rory and now Lorelai that he felt himself being pushed out.

Downstairs, he finally heard Lorelai speak; her voice loud and clashing with Luke's, "But is she happy?"

>

The next morning, Luke let Jess sleep and opened by himself. It was half past ten when Jess finally woke, and dressed out of his overnight bag. He had already decided that he was leaving tonight no matter what Luke asked – or ordered. It was a mistake to return; a mistake he didn't plan on repeating any time soon.

"Hey," Luke greeted as Jess emerged, pushing back the curtain. "Your mom called earlier."

"Huh."

Luke grimaced. That word was as good as a brick wall. "I didn't want to wake you, so I told her you would call back." He paused. Jess was fiddling with the salt shakers on an empty table. "When you were awake. Later."

"Yeah, sure." Luke nodded, and returned to the cash register to ring up a customer. "Hey," Jess called out. "You need help?"

"Yeah." Luke watched Jess grab a coffee pot and an ordering pad. "Thanks."

>

Rory came in a couple of hours later, armed with a massive textbook and a brand new highlighter. She settled at a table for two by the window, throwing her messenger bag in the opposite chair. She opened her book and flipped to the correct chapter, highlighter poised and at the ready.

Luke was nowhere in sight, so Jess took the initiative and poured a cup of coffee. He set it in front of Rory and she smiled.

"Mind reader?" she asked.

"Something like that."

He was on his way back to the counter when Rory jumped up. "Hey, Jess, wait."

He looked over his shoulder, startled. For a moment he thought that he had been right all along, that this was just a game. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to talk to you. I heard about your mom."

"Ah." He swung back around the counter and she took a seat in front of him.

"Congratulations."

"I'm not sure you're saying that to the right person."

"Sure I am." She smiled again, and he glanced at the kitchen door. He wanted Luke to make an appearance; he would save him from this conversation. "You know, I'm an only child too."

"Really." Only child, he thought. Close relationship with Lorelai. He remembered when she told him that she if she had to have a younger sibling, she wanted it to be a boy.

"A few months ago, my mom had a pregnancy scare. It was weird. For a little while, I thought I was going to have a little brother or sister." She skimmed the countertop, avoiding eye contact. To her, this was only their second conversation, and she was quickly closing in on 'too personal'.

"I just wanted to tell you that I know what it's like."

"What, what's like?" he asked.

"To think you're losing your mom to someone else."

"Excuse me?"

She tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, her confidence quickly disappearing. "I'm sorry, I know we just met, but my mom told me a little bit about you."

"What little bit?" he demanded. He couldn't imagine Lorelai sitting her down and filling her in unless Rory had asked in the first place. In fact, he painted Lorelai as the instigator in this whole situation. He could imagine the two of them huddled on the couch, writing up a pro and con list that would decide his fate. Lorelai would recite all the terrible things he had done, watching as Rory crossed out every redemptive trait he had.

"Your dad left when you were a baby." Rory blushed, embarrassed that she had so bluntly overstepped the boundaries of polite conversation. "You and your mom must have been pretty close," she continued, "and now to have this new baby on the way – "

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jess cut in, "but Liz and I were never exactly close."

"Oh, I just assumed…"

"Not everyone is as lucky to have a mother like yours."

She caught the sarcasm but tried to ignore it. "I'm just trying to help, Jess."

"By feeling sorry for me?"

"I'm not…" She sighed, flustered. "Are we having a fight?" she asked. "Because I wasn't trying to start a fight."

"Look," he snapped. "Stop trying to help. Don't dress something up that isn't even your business."

"I'm sorry." Rory backed away from the counter. "Next time, I'll just listen to my mom and stay away."

He watched her return to her table, trying to ignore how guilty he felt. Guilty! She was the one who was wrong. It wasn't his fault that she had no recollection of why he had every right to ignore her. It pained him though, knowing that if he had shut up and let her speak, she would have sat with him and tried to make him feel better. He didn't want her around, he didn't want her smiling and telling him things he already knew, but he still wondered what she would have said. During their relationship, they had so rarely discussed what they really felt or what they were really thinking that talking about something like this would have been such a change.

He used to think he and Rory had a deep relationship, one that went further than what she and Dean had. They were intimate on an emotional level, talking about books, movies, and music. They shared opinions, had honest debates. She told him what she wanted to do in the future, where she hoped to be, and he encouraged it. Now he could see that they had barely scratched the surface of things; none of their conversations had been real. In the big picture, it had meant nothing at all.

>

"Tell me how they did it."

Luke's head shot up, and the receipts fell from his hand. Jess picked them up and placed them in their proper piles.

"Did what?"

"Rory," Jess answered. "Do you know how they did it?" He had been thinking about it all day, since Rory had slipped out of the diner when he had his back turned. It drove him crazy that no matter how familiar her presence was, he was completely new to her. He had to know how it had been done; how he had been destroyed.

"Yeah, Lorelai told me. She was nervous about it, and she needed someone to talk to. She wanted to know if I thought it was safe."

Jess sat on a barstool, waiting for his uncle to continue.

"Rory went in for some interview. The doctor, he, uh, he recorded her explaining who she was, and who you were, and why she wanted it done."

Jess stared down at his hands. "Do you know what she said?"

"No, she went in alone." Luke paused, expecting another question from Jess, or at least some sign of anger or disgust. When there was none, he continued, "She had to gather up all her books and pictures and anything that reminded her of you. Then, they mapped out the memories in her head using everything she brought. They kept what she brought in. They destroy it, I guess."

A cold sweat overwhelmed Jess; the back of his T-shirt stuck to his skin. He already knew that he was gone, but it was hard to hear it. She had gathered him up and dropped him off at some sterile medical office where they had erased every trace of him. He wondered if it was hard for her, collecting up their past. Did the stack of books and concert tickets give her pause? Did she cry?

"She took these pills that knocked her out for the night. Then the, uh, doctor people make a house call, erase what needs erasing, and go. When she wakes up, it's done."

"It sounds easy," Jess said. "Quick."

"I guess that's their selling point."

Jess returned to his previous task of wiping down tables and stacking chairs. He paused at the table Rory had sat at earlier; she had left behind her textbook, and it had been pushed to the side, most likely by a careless patron. He wiped off the crumbs and set it on a nearby table.

"When did she do it?" It hadn't occurred to him until now to ask.

"I don't know the exact date," Luke answered. "It was a couple of days after your mother's wedding."

Jess grimaced. He no longer wondered what Rory had said to the doctor. She had probably gone the very next morning, desperate to get his pathetic plea out of her head.

"She had already looked it up," Luke added. "The company, Lacuna. I guess she'd been thinking about it, and suddenly, she decided it was time."

Jess slammed a chair onto a table, rocking it into the window. "She'd been thinking about it?" This was unbelievable. "For how long?"

"I don't know. Since you left the first time?" Luke's voice was void of accusation or contempt. It seemed he was merely offering an opinion.

"Well then, why didn't she do it sooner? Why the hell did it take her so long?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Luke said quietly. "I don't know what she was thinking."

If only she had done it before she left for Europe. Before her graduation. That final phone call never had to happen. His confession, months later, would have been kept bottled up; she would have smiled at him in the bookstore; he would have run and she wouldn't have given it a second thought. He wouldn't have gone to her dorm room and begged her to give him a second (third, fourth) chance. He would have known by then, what she had done.

Suddenly, it hit him full force. Since he had found out yesterday, he had been stuck in the present: her innocent smile, her friendly personality. He had been so preoccupied with the way she treated him now that he had generalized the past into one huge thing that she could no longer remember. But it was more than that. It was every little detail that he remembered and she couldn't. It was every date they had shared, every conversation they had had that was wiped away. Not only had she destroyed it for herself, but she had taken it away from him too.

"I want it done."

"Jess."

"I'm going back to New York tonight. I'll get it done tomorrow."

"Jess," Luke repeated. "You won't."

"Why not? What's the point of remembering?"

"Jess, you – " Luke sighed, uncomfortable with his position as the middle man. He couldn't decide whose side he was on, or if he even needed to choose. "You're stronger than that. People aren't meant to forget."

"You're not going to start spouting philosophical lessons, are ya Luke? Live and learn and all that bullshit?"

"I won't let you get it done."

Jess swooped forward, angry enough to let loose a yell or throw the cash register through the window. "If you and Lorelai broke up tomorrow, would you want to remember it? All those years of pining and bending over backwards for her? Of dating her and then losing her?" When Luke didn't reply right away, Jess plunged on. "You don't understand. Rory got rid of me. I don't exist."

"Jess, she's just one person."

"If she doesn't remember, if it's just me, then it's like none of it ever happened. It wasn't real."

"Jess – "

"I'm going back to New York. Tell Liz I'll call her when I get a chance." He didn't wait for Luke to nod or demand he stay. He fled upstairs, grabbed his overnight bag, and ripped the name of Rory's dorm and her number off the refrigerator. He wished Luke a hasty goodbye, and when his uncle turned around, he grabbed Rory's textbook and disappeared out the door.

>

"Nice hair," Logan remarked as he entered Rory's dorm. She rolled her eyes, and brushed a French braid off her shoulder.

"Paris did it."

"Paris?" Logan asked. "Your roommate Paris?" At Rory's nod, he frowned. "Paris _Gellar_?"

Rory grabbed his hand, tugging him onto the couch. "No, Paris Hilton." He wrapped his arms around waist and she leaned back against his chest.

"Were you two bonding?"

"I hope not. She said she _had_ to practice."

"Practice?" Logan echoed. "For what?" He twisted a braid around his hand and tugged out the elastic.

"She's spending Thanksgiving with Doyle. And her ticket to impressing Doyle's family is pleasing his two little nieces. Apparently, her last run in with them over the summer didn't go so well."

"I wonder why," Logan deadpanned. Carefully, he began to unravel a braid, languidly curling her hair over his fingers.

"Paris said they're big on slumber parties, so she'll have to suck it up and do nails and other girly activities. And she insisted on practicing her French braiding skill on me because apparently, I'm the only person she's ever had a slumber party with."

Logan unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a laugh. He hid his face in her neck, but she felt the warm exhale of breath, the shake of his shoulders against her back.

"Don't laugh! I don't even remember this so-called slumber party." She shifted in his lap, riddled with thoughts about Paris's earlier slip. Paris had refused to elaborate, brushing it off as irrelevant to the current situation. "You'd think I remember having Paris sleep at my house."

He kissed the back of her neck, and pulled out the second elastic. "It doesn't sound forgettable."

"I keep thinking back to high school, but it's like there are all these holes." She sighed, frustrated with her inability to remember. "Some days are much clearer than others."

There was a knock at the door and Rory stood, quickly trying to unfurl her braids. "How weird does my hair look right now?"

"Define weird."

She glared playfully and went to answer the door.

"Jess?"

He held out her textbook, and she took it, gratefully. "You left it at the diner," he said.

"Oh." She smiled. "Thanks."

He wanted to ruin her pristine life. He wanted to tell her that they had dated, and that she had loved him, and no matter what she did, she couldn't change that. He had no proof, but he only had to tell her to ask her mother or Luke or anyone else in that goddamn Norman Rockwell town and that would be enough.

But she was smiling at him again, and he had always liked her smile, especially now when he had thought he would never see it again. In their months apart, he had imagined what it would be like to run into her again, and when he thought about it realistically, she never smiled.

Logan appeared behind her. Jess was surprised, but then he wasn't. In the back of his mind, the parts that weren't occupied by her betrayal or Liz's insanity, he had known there had to be somebody else.

"Oh, Jess, this is my boyfriend, Logan. Logan, this is Luke's nephew, Jess." They shook hands, each one sizing the other up. Jess decided he didn't care. Logan decided he wasn't a threat. Both were lying.

"Thanks again for bringing this, Jess. I really appreciate it."

"It's no big deal. I'm on my way back to New York."

"Oh." She frowned. He thought maybe she looked a little sad. "You're going back."

"Yeah, I've got work tomorrow."

"You know, I'll be in New York next week. I have an interview for an internship. Maybe I'll see you."

Jess took another look at Logan and clenched his fists behind his back. "It's a big city. I doubt it."


	3. 3

Chapter Three

Hands shoved deep in his pocket, he shivered. His breath was white air in front of his face. Yesterday had been bearable, but today, on his day off, the wind had teeth, and the cold snaked its way inside his leather jacket. Still, he couldn't make himself go inside.

For the past forty-eight hours, Jess had thought of nothing but this. It was the easy way out; the cure for all his problems. With Rory gone, life would seem easier, less hard or less painful – less something. He didn't know what it would change exactly, but he knew that the change was something he needed. He thought he needed it. He had to try.

This wasn't a guarantee. He wasn't about to hand his mind over to an unknown doctor like it was just some routine check-up. But he had to see the office, he had to ask questions. He had to _know_. He double checked the pink card Luke had showed him, and he had later pocketed. The address remained the same. He had the right building.

With one last reading (_Rory Gilmore has had Jess Mariano_ _erased_ – ) and the final decision not to make any final decisions, he went inside.

The stairwell was mute, the walls bland with the color of Band-Aids. The paint was caked together in certain spots where glue had been left and holes weren't filled. When Jess grasped the banister, it shook and fell out of the wall. He had to scramble to catch it before it hit the ground. Slamming it back in place, he wondered how a cheap place like this received any customers at all.

At the top, the door had no sign. It appeared that at one time the foamy glass held lettering, but now, all that was left was the bottom of what could have been a C.

Inside, eight pairs of eyes fell on him and he immediately halted. He had stumbled into a land of pink and blue, and stenciled storks with packaged babies held between their beaks. There were four couples sitting in the waiting room, and every female was pregnant. Very pregnant. Jess flexed his hands, wiping his palms on his jeans. The cold outside had been forgotten.

He went to the front desk, ignoring the stares. He knew he looked out of place among the _Parenting_ and _American Baby_ magazines, artfully spread in an arc on the coffee table. The woman behind the desk looked up and smiled.

"Is there an upstairs?" Jess immediately asked.

"Why yes there is." The woman was impossibly cheerful as well as Southern, judging by the melodic lilt to her voice. "But there's nothing up there but boxes and cobwebs. Although Mrs. Weber is thinking of expanding and organizing some rooms up there."

He was in the wrong place. He had to be in the wrong place. "Is this 610 11th Avenue?"

"Yes, siree. Aw, sweetie, are you here to pick up your wife?"

"No, I – "

"Girlfriend? Sister?" With each shake of Jess's head, her frown line grew deeper. "Your… 'platonic friend who just happens to be in the family way'?" she air quoted.

"No, I'm looking for the Lacuna office."

"Lacuna." The woman tapped a pen against the desk before resting the tip on her bottom lip. "Lacuna. Right, I believe that's the office that used to occupy this building."

Jess blinked. "Used to?"

"Yes, it was owned by a Doctor Howard Mierzwiak, but it closed at the end of February."

"Do you know why?"

"A girl who worked there swiped all the doctor's personal files. She caused quite a stir, and the doc decided to close shop." She shrugged. "I don't even know what kind of doctor he was."

Jess nodded, unable to choke out a thank you. He whipped around and was out of the office so fast that he didn't even remember making the trip downstairs. His mind and body weren't reunited until he was halfway back to his apartment, and the cold caught up with him.

"Shit," he mumbled. "Shit!"

He hadn't been sure if he was going to have the procedure done. The night before as he lay awake in bed, he seriously doubted he would. Luke's words had stayed with him, and he had taken them to heart. People weren't meant to forget – he believed that. But now that the option was gone and he was resigned to a fate of remembering everything she couldn't, all he wanted was to forget.

His memory was too great, too specific, and he wasn't sure how to live with the knowledge. There were so many things in his head that he wished he could get rid of, but he sucked it up and he remembered and he dealt with it. Why couldn't she?

His cell phone rang and he ripped it out of his pocket. The caller ID read Luke Danes. Jess sighed and snapped it open.

"What?"

"Jess!" the voice on the other end exclaimed.

"Liz?"

"I knew it!" she yelled. "I knew you were screening your calls."

"I am not screening my calls," Jess assured her.

"You were. I called twelve times in the past two days and you didn't pick up once. Now Luke? The world stops for him. You always pick up."

He bit back a sigh, knowing she was right. Avoidance was necessary, but he wasn't sure why. What would ignoring her change? "I wasn't screening my calls," he repeated, letting himself into his apartment building.

"Fine."

He picked up on the abruptness, and knew she was mad. It wasn't often that she showed her anger. Over the past couple of years, she had been so relieved to once again have a relationship with him that she preferred to avoid confrontation. If she was disappointed or upset, she didn't call. It was as easy as that.

"I wish you would come down again," she said. "I want to celebrate my news. That's why I asked you in the first place."

It was warmer inside. The heat slid beneath his jacket, replacing the cold air with something softer. By the time he reached his apartment door, the cold seemed too foggy and distant to be real. "I'll have to check my work schedule. Maybe I can get time off this weekend."

"Friday?" she asked, hopeful.

"I'll try."

"And if I call you later, you'll pick up?" she said, hopeful.

He pursed his lips together, feeling guilty. "I'll even call you Mom."

He heard the intake of breath over the phone. "Wow, that word mom… I'm going to be a mom."

"For the very first time," he interjected.

She sighed, hurtling from emotional to irritated in a microsecond. "I meant all over again. You know I'm your mother. Nothing's going to change that."

"Would a DNA test?"

"Very funny. Would you like to talk to TJ?"

Jess nearly laughed. What would he and TJ talk about? The war in Iraq? The Bush administration? The latest half-hour comedy on Friday night TV?

"Actually, can I talk to Luke? Maybe TJ and I can catch up later."

"Sure, I'll get him." She paused and called for her brother. He heard the clatter of dishes and the muffled grunt of Luke demanding to know what Jess wanted. "I love you, sweetie."

"Yeah, you too." The phone switched hands. "Luke?"

"Two words: Lunch. Rush."

Jess bent his head, trapping his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink card. "Throw a dish rag at Liz. She'll know what to do."

"Jess…"

"Alright, just a quick question." He stared at the card. He didn't reread as much as recite the words in his head. They had been memorized by now, ingrained after looking at it so many times. _Rory Gilmore_, it said. _Rory Gilmore has had Jess Mariano erased_. He crumpled up the card and threw it in the direction of his bedroom. "Did Rory go for her interview yet?"

Luke frowned. "How did you know about that?"

"She mentioned it."

"When? When in all the time you two spent together shaking hands, did she mention it?"

"She just did, alright?" Jess was becoming frustrated. Somehow, he was the one getting chewed out even though he had done nothing wrong. "Did she have it?"

Luke relented. "No, it's this Thursday."

"What time?"

"Jess, I'm not telling you what time."

"Then where is it?"

Luke went inside the kitchen, deciding this conversation should be done in private. He felt like yelling, although he wasn't sure at whom. If he did though, he didn't want half the town bearing witness.

"You want an escort there too? A limo to drive you up?"

"Now, Luke, don't you think a limo is a little extreme? A towncar, on the other hand…"

"Jess!"

"Look, I just want to know. She's going to be in New York, and – " He stopped. The idea of seeing her had suddenly come to him when Liz called. The idea may have been forming since he found out Lacuna no longer existed, but he didn't know why. On the surface, seeing her seemed impossibly painful, something he should avoid at all costs. But here he was, ready to get in a fight with Luke, just to get a time and place.

"And what? You want to know where she'll be so you can avoid her?" Luke shook his head. "Because I doubt that."

"I want to see her."

"What? Why?"

Why? That was the question of the year. "What harm is it going to do?" Jess asked. "It's not like it's going to upset her."

"She has a boyfriend," Luke said quietly. "It's serious."

Jess sank onto the couch. Any energy left over from his earlier trip had been lost somewhere between the stairs and this moment. It had leaked out, his body a sieve.

"I know. This isn't about anything like that."

Jess expected Luke to ask what it was about. He was supposed to demand an explanation, holding the information hostage until he understood. Instead Luke just sighed and said, "Fine."

>

Rory Gilmore was happy. Her interview was over, and it had gone well. She had never minded interviews as long as she was prepared. In one, she had to talk about herself – a subject she was quite familiar with – while displaying her knowledge of the company or person of choice. She was always well-researched and with enough concentration, she could avoid rambling and play at well-spoken. Interviews were a breeze; it was afterward that was hard. She had to wait for an answer.

She rounded the corner of the news building, but halted as soon as she spotted Jess a few feet away. "Jess?"

"Hey," he said. "Coffee?"

She regarded him suspiciously, her brow knit in confusion. "You really should open up a business," she said.

"Selling coffee?"

"Mind-reading." She smiled and took the proffered cup. "Not only did you know I wanted coffee from miles away, but you also knew exactly where I'd be and when."

Jess shrugged. "It's a gift."

She took a sip, grateful for the liquid warmth. She had dressed in her best today, which unfortunately included a business skirt and a thin pinstripe jacket to match. Goosebumps had formed the instant she stepped outside.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged again, a gesture she was beginning to find annoying. It was flippant as if he had dozens of other things he could be doing. "I was just… passing through."

"Hmm." She gulped down half her cup, and he watched, amused. "So I have a few hours to kill before Logan finishes class and meets me for dinner."

"Was that an invitation or a statement of fact?"

"Both." Her eyes were shining over the coffee cup. He gestured for them to begin walking, and she fell in step beside him.

"Want me to take you around? Show you the sights?" he offered.

"I've been to New York before. I think I've seen all the tourist-y stuff." She leaned a bit closer, her voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper. "But I've never been here with a native before."

He ignored the pain, the memories that bubbled up at the mention. "So I can show you around as long as I don't take you to the Empire State Building?"

"_Especially_ not the Empire State Building. I've been there three times, and every time I was almost arrested." She threw her empty cup in an outside trash can as they passed a McDonalds. "They probably have a picture of me posted. 'Please refuse this girl entry,'" she recited, "'she associates with unsavory characters.'"

"Ah, now that's definitely you. I bet you're a biker babe."

She touched him lightly on the elbow, indicating his leather jacket. "Only on the weekends. Now before we go anywhere, I have to change." She lifted her briefcase and shook it. "Real professional right? I have a change of clothes in here, plus one pair of comfortable shoes."

"We can go back to my apartment," he suggested. "You can change without having to enter a less than hygienic public bathroom."

He wasn't facing her, but he picked up on the change. "I don't mind public bathrooms. I have to balance on my toes and contort into different positions to keep from touching the walls. It's good for flexibility."

"My apartment's not too far from here. And I need to grab some more cash anyway."

She bit her lip, considering her options. It wasn't that she was nervous around Jess. It was strange actually how comfortable she felt around him – as if he was a long lost friend she hadn't seen in years. The familiarity was there, she just had to get used to his presence again. But he was someone she didn't know well, so by principle, shouldn't she avoid following him to his apartment?

"It' just… Jess, I barely know you."

"Well, don't I look trustworthy?"

For a split second, he saw it – the déjà vu, the longing, the memory. It was like he could feel her remember, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't some screwed-up kind of projection; he may have been forcing the familiarity on her. But no matter what was true and what wasn't, the idea hit him then: seeing her today was more than just saying hey and being close. He wanted to remind her of everything they lost. And now, he had a plan.

"You don't," she said. "I think it's the leather jacket."

"It's three blocks," he said and waited.

"Okay." She handed him the briefcase. "But you get to carry this. And if my feet start to bleed, you get to carry me."

He almost laughed, but somehow held it in.

>

His apartment was tiny and often mistaken for neat, but really, he didn't own enough to clutter it up. There was a bedroom, bathroom, and one large room that qualified as a living room slash kitchen. No personal effects lined the walls or available surfaces; Jess preferred to keep things simple.

"Nice place," Rory said.

"Do you want a soda or anything?" he offered.

She looked over at the refrigerator, and then at Jess. "No thanks."

He gestured to his bedroom. "You can change in there."

"Oh yeah. Thanks." She closed the door behind her, but it didn't stick. She didn't notice as she dropped the briefcase on the bed and snapped it open. Jess, on the other hand, could see nothing but the thin space between the frame and the door.

He approached slowly, listening as she kicked off her shoes, the black heels making identical thumps against the hardwood floor. He rested his fingertips on the door, knowing that if he exerted just a little pressure, the door would inch open and he would see her changing.

A flash of color and skin whirled by the small opening and he stepped back. He fought the urge to burst inside and pull her in, kiss her neck as he removed her jacket. He thought of the freckle on the inside of her thigh and he longed to touch her there, just to remember how it felt. A hundred years ago, when they had dated, she had felt daring and told him about the freckle, lying on her bed to show him. He could see her shy smile as she lifted her skirt a couple of inches to reveal the small mark. He had kissed her there, and she had blushed, smoothing her skirt down quickly.

"I'm almost done!"

Her voice tore him from the reverie and he twisted around, trying to get away from the door. He nearly fell in his haste to get away, half-tripping over to the refrigerator. It wasn't until he had a can of soda in his hand that he realized he couldn't escape this and he couldn't escape her.

In the bedroom, Rory sat on Jess's bed, putting on her shoes. When she was finished, she stood and spotted the bookcase, smiling at the sight of so many books. While she didn't read much anymore, she still appreciated the sight, especially finding it belonged to a person like Jess. He didn't seem the reading type, but then she remembered his question when she had first met him. He had her pegged as the bookworm she used to be.

She ran her fingers along the spines of hardcovers and paperbacks, until she paused at Atonement by Ian McEwan. Paris had been reading it last month and had lent it to Rory, suggesting she branch out past school textbooks. Rory had yet to pick it up. She decided to rectify that now and pulled the novel out. She opened it, and flipped through the pages, stopping when she saw writing in the margins. She recognized the male handwriting and grinned. It was rather endearing that Jess made notes; she decided she would have to bring it up later.

On another page, the handwriting shifted. It was small script and would have been neat if it hadn't been forced in a corner, squeezed between the bottom paragraph and the page number.

_Happy now?__ I've defiled a book just to make you happy. Don't say I never did anything for you._

It was girlish handwriting and reminded Rory of her own. She stared and stared, suddenly uncomfortable being in this room, in this apartment. Something faint tugged at her mind, but she couldn't get a solid grip on whatever it was.

"Rory?"

She dropped the book and looked toward the door. "I'm coming," she called back. "Sorry." The last word was said quietly, more for herself than for his benefit. She grabbed the book from the floor and saw a crumpled pink card a foot away. She grabbed it with her free hand and set the book back in its place with the other.

"Hey." He knocked on the door. "Are you hungry?"

Without thinking, she threw the pink card into her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "Yeah. I could go for some food right now." She opened the door, finding him on the other side, standing too close.

"Good," he said. "I know a place."


	4. 4

**A/N**: I dedicate this chapter to Ali because she is talented, sweet, and _wonderful_.

Chapter Four

He could tell she was holding back laughter from the shape of her mouth. Her lips were pressed together, curved in a haphazard line that hid her teeth. He was unsure if this was a sign of amusement or snobbery, but he feared the worst. He didn't know what he would do if she refused his choice of lunch.

"I know it's no fancy French restaurant or anything, but – " He stopped when he noticed her expression contort further, her eyes wide with amusement. "What?"

"I'm eating at Le Cirque tonight," she said. "It just opened at its new location at One Beacon Court after being closed for months and Logan has been dying to go."

"Huh." He felt stupid suddenly, bringing her to some shabby hot dog stand whose manner of advertising involved a huge blue and yellow umbrella that proudly stated: "We're on a roll!" One Beacon Court was the newest edition to the Upper East Side, a place of luxurious condominiums that contained bathrooms that dwarfed his entire apartment. He supposed that was her life now, champagne and caviar and nights at the Palace.

She smiled brightly. "I'm more into the hamburger and hot dog scene myself."

Jess doubted her claim, deciding guilt was behind it, but he wasn't going to make this into a big thing. "One with everything on it," he requested.

"Make that two, please."

As the vendor decorated their hot dogs, Jess dug into his back pocket, producing a few crumpled bills. Rory bit her lip, and he wondered if this was another act of guilt or if she had moved on to pity.

"I can pay for myself."

"I invited you."

"Yeah," she said, "but going Dutch is so much more fun."

"Rory, it's not a big deal. It's a couple of hot dogs."

"Are you sure?"

Jesus. One glimpse of his apartment and eating habits, and suddenly, he was a fucking charity case. "I'm sure," he snapped, his mood sufficiently soured. He took his hot dog and handed over the money. "Keep the change."

Rory fell into step beside him as he headed down the street. She seemed to want to say something – maybe apologize for injuring his pride – but she took a bite of her lunch instead.

"So when is the boyfriend coming to get you?" he asked.

"Logan," she corrected.

"What?"

"He has a name." Her voice was stiff, and he knew she was annoyed. "It's Logan. Logan Huntzberger."

"Huntzberger," he echoed. The full weight of the name hit him seconds later. "The newspaper guy?"

"Well, yeah." Rory blinked, suddenly uncomfortable with using his name. "Sort of. I mean, his dad is the big newspaper mogul."

"Oh." He smirked, and her jaw tightened at the sight.

"Oh?"

"It's just… there's a whole new layer to your relationship. I get it now." He was still pissed from before, but he realized it too late as Rory stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the crowd to part around her.

"Excuse me? You 'get it now'?"

"I didn't – "

"Not that it's _any_ of your business why Logan and I are dating, but I'm not using him for his father. Okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled.

They resumed walking, but she threw out the remainder of her hot dog at the next garbage bin they passed. If her tone hadn't made it clear, her lost appetite had: he had screwed up and she was pissed.

"Look, Rory, I'm sorry." When she didn't say anything more, he continued. "I know you're not that kind of person." He was about to touch her elbow but thought better of it. "Okay?"

"The only people who seem to support this relationship are my grandparents," she blurted out. "And as much as I appreciate their stamp of approval, it's not enough. No one wants Logan and me to work, least of all his parents who _hate_ me. And for you to just jump to conclusions like that…" She shook her head, exasperated. "Never mind."

"His parents don't like you?" He had to crack a smile at that. Rory was the kind of girl parents begged their sons to bring home. He had to ask.

"Apparently, I'm the 'white trash' of high society." She sighed, a new wave of agitation forming as she remembered the dinner from hell and all subsequent gatherings since then. "Not only do I have ambitions and plans for my future, but my mother's role as the Gilmore Black Sheep has tarnished my reputation." She rolled her eyes to accentuate how little she cared about her so-called reputation.

"Your mother." He understood now. Lorelai had created a delicious scandal among the elite, and Rory _was_ that scandal. She was a walking reminder of how not to raise your debutant.

"Yeah, my mom had me young. Very young." She paused, as if realizing how much detail she was going into about her personal life. She hated how her lips loosened around him, as if they were dear friends instead of strangers. Being around him brought a certain level of comfort rivaled only by Lorelai's company. It was easy to forget she had met him less than a week ago.

"My mom had me at eighteen."

"Really?" She brightened at this, happy he was sharing something too.

"Yup." He stuck out his hand as if to introduce himself. "Broken condom."

"Defective birth control," she said, shaking his hand.

Her voice had lost its hardness, and her smile had returned. Before she could remember her previous anger, he tugged her across the street.

"Hey!" she yelped. "Isn't this jaywalking?"

"Not in the city," he teased. "This is called seeing an opening and going for it."

As soon as their feet reached the sidewalk, she hit him with her briefcase. "I think you almost just killed me!"

"You're exaggerating." He gestured to the subway entrance behind him. "I know where we're going next."

"Where are we going next?"

"You'll see."

She trotted down the subway stairs after him. "Hey," she said, reaching the bottom, "can I have the rest of your hot dog?"

-

"Oh my god!" Her excitement was more than he could hope for. She was practically floating between the racks of records. "God, my friend Lane would wanna live here!"

He winced at the familiar comment. "Go ahead, look around." She wandered off, and he bolted in the opposite direction. He needed to get away from her, even if it was only for a few minutes.

It was as if he was seeing this day through tinted glasses, a thin veil of déjà vu. Every word, every action brought him a reminder of her previous visit to New York. He remembered it well; that day she had made it possible for them to spend time together without the questioning whispers of the town or the overbearing presence of Dean. He had been free to talk to her, to touch her, show her around, and she had been sweetly awkward, rambling whenever her nerves became too much.

Today, he had taken her to a similar hot dog stand, but it hadn't been the same one. He would have loved to drag her to the same vendor on the same street, but it was as if none of that existed anymore. The key to unlocking her memory was buried somewhere with that cart, hidden behind a rip in time that he was never going to find.

"The Delta 72," he heard Rory say from the next aisle. He looked over his shoulder and found her holding a stack of records, facing the owner.

"An indie rock band formed in 1994, released their first single 'On the Rocks' in June of '95 and have released three albums since." The owner adjusted his brown-rimmed glasses. He was exactly as Jess remembered: too young to be old with a mess of brown-gray hair and a battered leather vest.

"Don Norman and the Other Four." Rory rocked back on her heals, excited with the next answer.

"Canadian garage band formed in 1962. Mostly known for covers. Disbanded in 1967."

Jess cut behind a stack of 70's collectibles and snuck into Rory's aisle. She sifted through her pile of records and said, "The Trashmen."

"Minneapolis rock n' roll band formed in the early 60's. Unfairly considered a novelty act. Disbanded in 1967, and temporarily reformed in the mid-80's."

"Wow! Okay, how about – "

"Rory?" Jess interrupted. "What are you doing?"

"This man is a genius!" she exclaimed. "He knows everything."

"Well, I'm good with music," the owner said. "Ask me the current president and I couldn't tell you."

"Rory, I think you need to leave him alone. He's not a toy."

"But…" She sighed and followed Jess over to the next aisle. "That was fun."

"Find anything you like?"

She considered the stack of records she had in her arms and held them out. "Yes, all of these." Before he could say anything, she nodded to an adjacent display. "And all of those." She paused, her forehead scrunched up in thought. "The first half of the story really."

"What's wrong with the second half?"

"I haven't gotten there yet."

"Well, go ahead, don't let me stop you."

"Thanks so much for bringing me here, Jess."

He shrugged, brushing off her appreciation. "I'm glad you like it."

-

She purchased a handful of records to share with Lane. She insisted she didn't know which were good, and had to wait for her official music savant to decide.

"Lane is an amazing drummer and a rock star at heart," Rory said as they left the store. "You'd really like her."

"Yeah?" He was unenthusiastic to say the least.

"Definitely. Her taste in music is varied, but she has an ear for the good stuff." She noticed his lackluster nod but didn't comment on it. "Where to next? I still have a couple of hours."

He thought back to her previous visit. It hadn't gone much farther than the record store and a swing by the Rockefeller Center at her excited insistence. She had needed to get to her mother's graduation, and he had had no choice but to let her go. However, if he had had more time, he knew exactly where he would have taken her.

"You interested in going to a bookstore?" he asked.

She appeared doubtful but was having too much of a good time to disagree. She trusted his decisions and wanted to tell him so, but in the end, she merely smiled and followed his lead.

-

The bookstore was small, no more than a slant of brick and a couple of barred windows to let in just enough light to read the titles on the shelves. The interior was warm and cozy, a sharp contrast to the cold November air. It was more than relief, however; it was like a minor epiphany for Rory. She hadn't been inside a bookstore or library for other than research purposes in ages. It was as if she had entered a time warp that led to her childhood, and she wanted to stop and breathe in the smell of old books and stale coffee and burning incense. She wanted to wrap herself in this new page of time, disappear into it and the feelings it evoked.

"I like this place," Rory said absently. "It's… nice."

"Go and browse," Jess ordered. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Wait, Jess." She tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. "What are you doing?"

He answered with a smirk, reminding her of something else, someone else; she didn't know exactly. But she felt his smile, like a pull on her heart, a cut on her wrist; in that one moment, she so badly wanted to cry.

"You'll see."

He disappeared for a full ten minutes, but she didn't browse. She didn't move much farther than the entrance. Her feeling of complacency had disappeared with Jess; she felt suffocated and trapped, much like she had back at his apartment. She didn't belong here, and she wanted to leave. Now.

"Rory!" he called out from the back of store. "C'mere!"

Hesitantly, she followed his voice, and found him standing in front of a small red sofa and a table full of books. He gestured to the couch, and she took a seat.

"Jess, I think – " She wanted to say, _I think we should leave._ She wanted to explain how difficult breathing had become, but he interrupted.

"When was the last time you read a book that wasn't for school?"

"Um…" She thought long and hard but couldn't recall a proper memory. She knew she had been an avid reader as a preteen, but couldn't remember much after that. It bothered her, the bookcases and extra shelves in her room, all made for holding novels. There was so much storage space, yet her collection was pretty flimsy. There were huge gaps on her shelves; most novels couldn't stand on their own. Her mother had bought bookends to keep them upright; Rory hadn't cared enough to invest the few dollars to do even that.

"I don't know," she finally said.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly subdued. "Why did you stop reading?"

She frowned, once again trying to recall a concrete fact, a clear memory where she put down a book and never picked it up again. Nothing helpful surfaced. "I don't know. It's like, I remember a time where all I did was read, and then there's now, where I don't read at all. I don't remember any… transition period. I guess I just… stopped."

"Well, let's get you started again." He knelt down next to the table. "Pick a book from each pile. It's a good starter's kit."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Okay." She was more relaxed now that she was sitting down. Maybe she could stay and skim a couple of books. This day could end on a good note. "What's this a pile of?" she asked, pointing to the tallest stack on the table.

"Classics."

"Of course." Great Expectations sat on top, a novel she had read in high school. She inspected the spines of the hidden books finding everything from Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina to Jane Austen's much adapted Pride and Prejudice to the thick hardcover version of The Count of Monte Cristo. "So many to choose from. I'll never catch up."

"If you pick a Bronte novel, you have to buy one by each sister."

She laughed, as she spread out the trio of books in front of her. "I guess it wouldn't be fair to play favorites." She finally decided on Emma because after seeing the Gwyneth Paltrow adaptation (and mocking her accent with Lorelai for two hours straight), reading the original was in order. "Next?"

He tapped a considerably shorter pile. "Everyone needs to experience some nihilistic reading at least once in their lives."

"Oh boy," she mumbled tonelessly.

"Now there's Bret Easton Ellis, the man who insists he's a moralist even though he wrote American Psycho and The Rules of Attraction, and Dennis Cooper who swears he isn't a nihilist despite what his books say. Here's Closer and his newest, which I haven't even read yet – The Sluts."

"The Sluts?" she asked, highly amused. "You'd let me read that before you?"

"I'm a gentleman." He picked up another book and handed it to her. "Diary by Chuck Palahniuk, America's favorite nihilist."

"Why this one?"

"Lullaby isn't exactly his best work, and Invisible Monsters has one too many twists for you," he explained, ignoring her offended "Excuse me!" "Go with this one, you'll be hooked."

"Fine," she huffed, stacking it on top of Emma. In the middle pile of the table, The Catcher in the Rye caught her eye, and she tapped it, waiting for an explanation.

"Contemporary classics," Jess said, displaying To Kill a Mockingbird and Of Mice and Men.

She told him she had read both for school, but had only enjoyed the former. "I didn't like Of Mice and Men. If I wanted to read about never achieving the American Dream, I would have flipped through A Death of a Salesman. Plus, his portrayal of woman? Thanks a lot, Steinbeck. Curley's wife was a great representation of us." She rolled her eyes.

Jess tried to hide his smile by pulling out another novel. She was getting into this. He wanted to find more that she had read, but he didn't know which she would remember and which she had gotten rid of. He wanted to hear her condemn authors or praise them as the second coming; he wanted to hear her talk, her voice strong and passionate, and indifferent to what he thought. When she slipped into debate mode, her meekness disappeared, and she became someone new. He wanted that now; he wanted to remember what it was like.

"I'll take Salinger," she decided. "Show me more, please."

He went through Russian Literature with her, and she ended up with another classic, Anna Karenina. He took her through the romance novels after she shrieked and covered her eyes, having finally noticed Fabio's bare chest on the cover of a paperback. "Julia Quinn, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel," Jess listed. "If you ever read one of these, I'll lose all respect for you."

He pointed out the exploding genre of Chick Lit, knowing that every girl needed a romantic piece of fluff once in a while, although she declined to purchase one. He showed her historical fiction (specifically The Crimson Petal and the White, which she accepted with an exaggerated groan), science fiction, satire, and a small sampling of mystery novels. He threw a few essay books at her too, even though he insisted nonfiction required a whole day on its own.

"Hemingway," Jess said, handing her Sun Also Rises, "is in a class all his own." He was teasing her now, waiting for her to scoff and throw the book back at him. He was convinced it would happen; he even held his breath.

"I've heard Hemingway is the cure for insomnia."

He cocked his head to the side, waiting for another disparaging comment, a twisted smile. There was supposed to be more; she was supposed to remember! An afternoon spent in a bookstore surrounded by authors that spanned her history, her _life_, was supposed to trigger that hidden switch. Each of these books had defined her at one point, and now they were meaningless; assignments she had to read for school, classics she didn't have time for. He wanted to shake her until she remembered Sylvia Plath and Fyodor Dostoevsky, and damn it, even Ayn Rand. He wanted to pick up an obscure title and watch her smile as each character entered her head, each plotline and scene change; each unexpected plot twist. She used to be so good at this.

"You heard wrong." He indicated her growing pile of chosen books. "Get it."

As if sensing his irritation, she agreed quickly. "I think we need to go," she said, glancing at her watch. "Logan is supposed to pick me up soon."

"Fine. Let's go."

She followed him to the cash register, at least four steps behind him. She didn't know what had caused his sudden mood change, but she didn't want to get in an argument now when she was so close to leaving.

The cashier rang her up, and she dug inside her purse for her wallet. The crumpled pink card escaped her attention as she shoved her cell phone and makeup bag on top of it. She finally produced her credit card and paid. Jess was halfway to the door by the time she picked up her bag. She hurried after him.

"Jess?" She didn't know what she wanted to say. An apology seemed in order, but she didn't know what it would be for.

"We'll take a taxi," he said shortly. "It'll be faster."

-

She was having trouble balancing her purse, briefcase, and bags of records and books. Jess held her shopping bags as she got out of the taxi.

"You don't have to wait," she said. "He'll be here soon."

Jess shrugged. "It's okay. I'll wait."

"Well, thank you for today. For lunch and the record store and educating me in the wonders of the literary world."

"No problem."

She bit back a groan. Why had he shut down? She wanted him to acknowledge the day they had together with more than a shrug and a mumbled "it was nothing".

"Are you visiting Stars Hollow again soon?" she asked.

Jess thought back to the phone call from Liz and the promise to visit on Friday, but he wasn't going to mention it. He had to stop pursuing this. She wasn't going to remember; the memories weren't hidden somewhere in her head. That was the point of the whole procedure: erasing someone for good. He was gone and he had to accept it.

"My birthday is next week," she said. "I'm turning twenty-one."

He wasn't going to take the bait. This whole day was a waste, and he wasn't going to repeat the mistake anytime soon. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." She studied the sidewalk for a silent moment before making one last ditch effort. "I have a confession to make."

"Yeah?"

"I've already read The Catcher in the Rye."

"You can read it again," he said, confused by her announcement. "It's allowed."

"Well, I was hoping maybe you could reread it first. Maybe put some notes in the margin for me?"

He stiffened, the flicker of hope cruel and ephemeral. He didn't know how she knew that about him, but he very much wanted her to disappear. He found himself looking for Logan over her shoulder, wishing the blond would come and sweep her away to Le Cirque.

"I flipped through a couple of your books," she explained, "back at your apartment." She pulled the novel from one of her bags and offered it to him. "Please?"

He took the book with numb fingers, dizzy with the memory of their first real conversation, her amused smile under the streetlights in the middle of the street. He wanted to give it back; he wanted to tell her how much he hated what she had done, how he would never forgive her.

"I hope you come down soon," she said. "I know your mom would love to see you."

Behind her, a limo pulled up alongside the curb and honked its horn.

"Bye, Jess."

When he didn't say anything back, she got into the limo, briefcase, purse, books and all. Jess clutched the Salinger copy to his chest, his head empty of rational thought. The limo drove away, and he watched it go, wishing he had said something more.

-

The restaurant was pleasantly crowded, a mix of collared shirts and flimsy skirts. Rory had dressed on the way over, in the limo, once again complimenting Logan's eye for dress sizes. He told her she looked beautiful and she blushed.

"I need to bring you to this record store," she said. "I don't know how Jess found it, but – "

"Thirteen."

"What?"

"I'm just counting the number of times you say his name tonight."

"Logan." She fiddled with the red tablecloth, the material sleek and expensive between her fingers. "I had a really good time today. I'm just trying to tell you about it."

"I know, I'm sorry." He waved his hands as if to dismiss the subject, or more specifically – Jess.

"It was nice that he met up with me. If he hadn't, I would have been all alone, wandering around the city." She let out a sad sigh. "Nothing to do but roam."

"Does Jess have a girlfriend?"

"Why, are you interested?"

"Well, I was hoping the three of us…" She kicked him underneath the table, and he laughed. Despite his flippant nature, Rory knew he was aggravated and possibly jealous over her new friend. She wished he would just spit it out already, so they could get on with their meal.

"He's Luke's nephew. He's fun to hang out with, and the person to see if you're looking to get a good hot dog in the city. That's it."

"That's it?" he echoed.

She smiled, remembering Jess's face as he presented her with book after book. "I promise."


	5. 5

Chapter Five

Dinner was quiet despite Liz's numerous attempts to jumpstart a conversation. She touched on everything from the diner and the option of franchising (Luke couldn't stop kicking himself for mentioning Richard Gilmore's inane idea) to Jess's most recent construction project on a brand new restaurant in New York. Both topics fizzled out quickly as both men declined to say much. Liz refused to give up though. They were going to have a happy family conversation even if it killed them.

"How was everyone's week?" Liz pressed.

The response was a shuffling of feet and shrugging of shoulders as all three men muttered something about "okay" or "fine" or "Kirk insanity".

"Well, I had a good week too," Liz continued. "I've taken up scrapbooking."

Jess and Luke choked simultaneously, hands covering their mouths, fists beating their chests. TJ jumped up and attempted to give Luke the Heimlich before Luke swallowed and threatened violence if TJ so much as touched him.

"I'm so glad you two are happy I've found a hobby," Liz sulked.

"I'm sorry, I thought an afternoon with the bong was your idea of a hobby," Jess said.

"You know I gave that up years ago!" Liz crossed her arms, indignant at her family's reaction. "I thought it would be fun to do. Especially once my lying in period begins, I'll need something to keep me from losing my mind."

"And taking it out on me," TJ added.

"Lying in?" Luke asked.

"We picked it up from the Renaissance fairs," Liz explained. "If you had the money to do it, you spent the last few weeks of pregnancy in bed."

Jess and Luke shared a look. "You do know it's the twenty-first century?" Jess asked.

"Oh god, please tell me you didn't hire a midwife." Luke was already rubbing his forehead from the forthcoming headache. "You're going to a hospital to deliver that kid!"

"Of course we are!" Liz took another bite of her dinner, rubbing her stomach as she swallowed. "I want only the best for my baby. That's where the scrapbooking comes in. I want this kid to have a baby book – first smile, first laugh, first step. Damn it, the first time I change his diaper is going down in that book! I'm going to do things right this time."

"'Do things right?'" Jess echoed. "So this time, you're not going to smoke or drink?"

"Hey!" Liz jammed a finger in his direction. "I did _not_ smoke or drink when I was pregnant with you."

"Sure."

"I didn't!" If she hadn't been upset before, she certainly was now. "As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I threw out my cigarettes and made Jimmy pour all the alcohol down the drain."

"Is this before or after you locked yourself in the bathroom, threatening to overdose on sleeping pills?" Jess asked, his voice stiff.

"I did no such thing!" Liz stamped her foot beneath the table. "Did Jimmy tell you that?"

"Never mind," Jess snapped. "Luke, can you pass the meat?"

Liz stared at her son as he slid a few slices onto his plate. "I didn't!" she repeated.

Jess grabbed the nearby gravy boat and poured a generous amount over his food. When he began to eat in silence, Liz touched her stomach again, discreetly, her hand hidden beneath the tablecloth.

"I've signed up for a yoga class at Miss Patty's." She forced a smile. "I've heard it's a good form of exercise during pregnancy as long as you're careful. Do you think Lorelai would like to join me?" Luke froze mid sip, his cup poised on his lips. "I'm sure she could use a de-stressor after those long days at the inn."

"I…" Luke took a long gulp from his beer. The pause provided no help; no one changed the subject and Liz drummed her fingers, waiting for a response. "I don't know." Luke couldn't outright refuse his sister, not without a solid reason. Somehow, he doubted 'I don't want you hanging around Lorelai and telling her embarrassing stories from my youth' was good enough. It would probably only encourage her and worsen the situation. "I guess you should ask her."

"Okay, I will. Maybe she'll want to come swimming with me too. I signed up at the Y in the next town over. Swimming is one of the most beneficial exercises during pregnancy. Did you know that?" The question was general, directed to the whole table.

Jess shook his head. "I didn't. Wow. You've really been reading up on this."

Liz either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "I've bought a couple of books." She stood and began to gather the dishes. "I want the best for my boy!"

Jess felt a tug at the base of his spine. It was subtle, but it hurt like skin pulled tight against the bone. He headed for the kitchen, his empty plate in hand.

"How do you know it's a boy?" Luke asked from the doorway. Liz was only a couple of months along. The baby was a small bump, unnoticeable unless her shirt was pulled taut against her stomach.

"Well, there's this old wives' tale that I tried. All I had to do was pee in a cup, and – "

Luke held up a hand. "Stop. I trust you. I'm sure it's a boy."

"Relax, Luke," TJ said as he passed him, a pot in each hand. "She didn't drink it or anything."

"Any names in mind?" Luke asked, changing the subject.

"I thought it would be nice to name the baby after dad," Liz said. She was elbow deep in dirty dishwater, scrubbing away at the dinner plates. Jess thought she looked comfortable in her position – natural even. The tug worsened; he felt it at the back of his throat. "TJ wants a TJ junior."

Jess scoffed but Luke said nothing. Jess took that as silent agreement.

"Actually, I thought it'd be nice if we named him after Jess," TJ said.

This time, Liz let out a small chuckle, but she didn't have the heart to explain the situation to TJ.

"After Jess," Luke repeated. "After Jess?" He said it slower this time, uncomprehending. "Then you'd have two sons named Jess."

"I thought Jess would appreciate it," TJ said. "I thought he'd be honored. You would be honored, wouldn't you, Jess?"

"I'd rather jump through a plate glass window," Jess deadpanned.

"Aw, come on, Jess." Liz flicked the soapy water at her son. "Just play along."

"Are we done here? I need to get back to New York."

"New York?" Liz echoed. She shut off the water and wiped her hands on a nearby towel. "I thought you were spending the night."

"Nope. Can't."

"Come on, Jess. I'll make up the baby's room for you."

"I can't," he said again. He offered no reason why.

"But I was hoping you'd stay and watch a movie with us tonight. Then tomorrow morning, we could eat breakfast together. Like a real family."

"Oh geez." Jess waved a dismissing hand in his mother's direction before stalking off into the living room to retrieve his jacket.

"Jess!" Liz called. She went after him. "Are you leaving?"

"I just told you I couldn't stay the night," Jess replied, tugging on his jacket.

"Jess, you don't have to go yet. What about dessert? I made brownies."

"You mean you picked brownies up from the grocery store."

"No, I mean I made brownies this afternoon because I know you love them." She gestured to the kitchen. "Come on. Brownies and milk? Like when you were a kid."

"Stop doing that," Jess warned. "Stop this little kid, real family bullshit."

Liz was taken aback. Her hand flew to her chest, over her heart. "What? Jess, I just – "

"You're having a son, congratulations. You get to have a real family, the whole package. I'm real happy for you." He buried his hands in his pockets, searching for a cigarette. Of course, he didn't have them. He had purposely left them in the car knowing he couldn't smoke around Liz.

"Jess." Her voice was softer now, and she tried to touch his arm, but he jerked away. "I'm so sorry if I – "

"I don't want to talk about this."

"That's too bad because we're going to talk! I want you to tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong!"

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you a real family growing up. I'm so sorry for that."

He didn't know how to form the words, the right way to explain this. He was like a guinea pig for the family dynamic. She had done everything wrong with him, but now she knew how to do it right. "Whatever."

"Jess, I wish I could turn back time and make it better. I wish I had been ready for a kid, I wish Jimmy had stayed. You deserved so much better."

"It doesn't matter now," he muttered. "It's done."

"I want you to be happy," Liz said. "And I want you to be a part of this family."

He didn't hate his mother – he couldn't. But the anger left over from his childhood still lingered, prodding him in moments like this. He wanted to yell at her for sending him away back in high school, for not being there and for not trying, for resenting him for merely existing – something he never asked for.

She finally had a family she could love and nurture – a family she was ready for. And he couldn't stand the thought of it.

"My life is in New York," he said simply.

He bolted before she could reply or stop him. He hit the cold November air and inhaled sharply, wishing he hadn't left his car back at Luke's, wishing he didn't have to walk or think or care. He felt his hands shaking violently, shuddering against the cold and everything else, but when he held them up, they were still. The motion was internal, he realized, a shifting of bone and tissue. He wondered if this was a telltale sign of spontaneous combustion, a warning his body would soon turn to dust.

As he approached the diner, he noticed a figure on the outside stoop in front of the door. At first he couldn't tell who it was, but after she picked up her head revealing pale skin and dark hair, the realization was instant. He wanted to run, fast, in the opposite direction. But his car was on the other side of Luke's, and he had to pass her in order to get to it. There was nowhere else to go – no place in Stars Hollow he was willing to hide – so he continued on, knowing he had to face her.

"Hey!" She stood when she saw him.

"Hey." He wanted to walk on, cutting off any chance for further conversation, but something held him there. She was using that smile again, and he was struck with the ridiculous thought that maybe she had been waiting for him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Ah, you don't know about the Friday Night dinners. I just came back from my grandparents, and now need to drown my sorrows in coffee."

"Bad night?" Why did he ask? Why was he inviting her to tell him what was bothering her?

"You could say that. My plan was to come into Luke's, order a cup of coffee, and complain to the person closest to me, but when I got here, it was closed." She pursed her lips and leaned closer. "However, now that you're here…"

"Rory, would you like to come in, sit down, and have a cup of coffee?"

"Jess," she said sweetly, "that is so nice of you to ask."

Jess grabbed the key from its hiding place and stuck it into the door. Rory let out a small shriek of surprise. "That's where Luke keeps his spare key?"

"Yup."

"That's where Luke has always kept his key?"

"Yup." Jess led the way inside, closing the door behind her.

"So many missed opportunities. So many nights, my mom and I could have snuck in here… so many wasted pieces of pie, so many uneaten donuts…"

Jess started a pot of coffee and resumed his usual position behind the counter. Rory sat in front of him. "I told you my birthday was next week, right?"

He nodded, wondering if this was another attempt to invite him.

"My plan was to have my usual party here. I may be turning twenty-one, but there's nothing like a nonalcoholic party in Stars Hollow with a pink boa wrapped around your neck and a cake with your face on it."

"Of course."

"My grandmother decided that it must be a big celebration and she rented the Aqua Turf Club. I don't know if you've heard of this place, but it's meant for wedding receptions and high school proms. They can have four parties going on at once. And my grandmother rented out the entire place! They're going to store my gifts in the bridal suite!"

"Wow." He wasn't that surprised. Emily Gilmore was known for big stunts.

"I tried to explain to my grandmother that it was unnecessary, but it didn't work out so well. Now, the word 'ungrateful' was never used, but…" She shrugged. "I felt awful afterwards. My grandmother always makes something small into something monumentally huge."

"So you're complaining that your grandmother is throwing you a birthday party?" Jess asked.

That seemed to cut Rory's ramble short. "Well, not exactly…"

"Then what are you complaining about? Because it sounds like your grandmother is just trying to make your twenty-first birthday memorable." He didn't want to side with Emily, but after the fight he just had with his mother, it seemed ridiculous that Rory was complaining about a grandmother who wanted nothing more than an active part in her life. Rory didn't have to worry about disappearing; there were too many people who cared about her.

"You're not doing this right," she pouted. "You don't understand the post Friday night dinner coffee hour."

"Why isn't your mom here?"

"I told her I was going to wait here, and she told me I better make sure I was gone for at least an hour. I think she's home wrapping gifts."

"Right." Jess pulled out a mug and set it in front of her. "Presents. Because she can't do that while you're away at school."

She laughed. "My mother doesn't do logical or practical."

He poured her a cup of coffee, and she immediately took a long gulp. He couldn't help but be reminded by earlier times. He imagined her backpack on the floor, leaning against the stool, her legs crossed beneath her Chilton skirt, her smile as she leaned in for a goodbye kiss.

"Have you read anything yet?" he asked. _Did I make an impact_, he wanted to know. _Did I make you want to remember?_

"I started The Crimson Petal and the White," she said, taking another sip.

"Really? Why? You complained that it wasn't right for the starter's kit. You said it was too long."

"I arranged all the books on my bed, closed my eyes, and blindly picked one. You cannot argue with a method like that."

He wanted to laugh. "Definitely not."

"You know, I started it yesterday, and… the author's talking to me. Is that bad?"

He smirked, cocking his head ever so slightly to the right. "That depends. Are you talking back?"

"Sometimes. He's quite considerate, making sure I got out of Caroline's bed before she was startled awake. I had to thank him."

She was being cute, and she was kind of flirting with him, something she did all through their day in New York. The urge to touch her was stronger now that she was being sweet and all the anger in his body was directed toward his mother. He laid his hand over hers, fitting a thumb beneath her palm. The lower half of his body was pressed tightly against the counter in an attempt to get as close to her as possible. She faltered at his movement, but didn't pull away so he touched her cheek too, his hand sliding against her jawline.

"Jess." Her voice didn't sound right. It was a mutated whisper; soft, husky, confused. "I have a boyfriend."

"I know." He hated her, he hated her, he hated her. Over and over, he repeated it in his mind until the words no longer made sense. It was just noise, a rumble of sound. He was going to kiss her.

"Jess." She tugged her hand away. "Stop."

He let out a frustrated sigh, pulling away from the counter. "Right."

"Logan and I are serious," she said quietly. She was standing now, and he knew she was getting ready to leave. "I've been dating him for over six months. You and I have barely known each other a week."

He snapped. It was a clean break, directly down the middle. Maybe if she had thrown another reason in his face, he could have accepted it and let her leave, but to once again remind him of the problem that existed – a problem that was her own god damn fault – he couldn't take it.

"You like tea," he announced.

She had been edging toward the door, taking discreet little steps, but his statement stopped her. "What?"

"When you were eleven, you were sick, so Luke gave you tea instead of coffee. You loved it, but never told your mom because you thought she'd mock you for the rest of your life."

"How did you – "

"You sing in the shower, you hate carrots, you own every Spice Girls CD, and you used to have their poster on your wall."

Rory had her hand stuck on her scarf; she had been in the middle of wrapping it around her neck when he started his tirade. Everything about her seemed stuck now. Her mouth was open, frozen in a small 'o' of shock.

"You think you're the only person in the world who doesn't find David Sedaris funny," he continued. "When you read that book by Hemingway, you're going to hate it. It's going to put you sleep, and you'll end up using it as a paperweight or a doorjamb, and you're going to want to rub it in my face."

"Stop it," she said suddenly. "I don't know what you're doing, but – "

"Before you wanted to be a reporter, you wanted to be a photographer. And before that you wanted to be a flight attendant. Do you see the common theme here?" he asked. "Travel. You love to travel, and you're dying to go around the world. As much as you love this town, a part of you can't stand it. It's too small and it suffocates you. You'd rather live out of a suitcase and leave Stars Hollow as your backup plan."

She was crying. He hadn't expected it, but he didn't feel guilt or pity – he didn't feel anything at all.

"I never told anyone that before," she whispered.

He stared her down, his face unforgiving. "You told me."

For another moment, there were no words, no movement, but then the bell was ringing and the door was open and she was gone.


	6. 6

A/N: I'm really sorry. I just started my freshman year of college. Enough said, really.

Chapter Six

It hurt. It really hurt. The steering wheel was cold against the tips of her finger, the side of her mouth. The space between her lips was a block of frozen air, sticky tears pasting together hair, leather, and skin. She wanted nothing more than to pick herself up and drive away, but it hurt too god damn much. Jess had yelled at her, Jess had confused her, and she was crying as if there had been a death in the family. It was too painful for her to make sense of.

There was something buried beneath the blade digging into her spine, wedged in under the anvil weighing on her heart. She was forgetting something, something important, something that warranted a string around her finger, a tight red ribbon, a vibrant color. It was a chord Jess had struck, and she tried to follow it, so she could understand, but it was a path that led nowhere. She did her best to construct a reasonable explanation, picking through memories she hoped would offer clues, but there was nothing.

Her memory was riddled with holes, gaps of time she had never realized were missing. Up until this moment, she had never needed to return to the past as she was perfectly content with the present. But now she found her mind void of reason, things that had happened but couldn't be explained, the who's and why's suddenly absent.

A nearby car kept capturing her attention, invading her moments of quiet sobbing as the night grew darker and her mind grew foggier. It was Jess's, something she hadn't realized earlier, when she had pulled in beside it. It was a mess of a vehicle, nothing more than rusted metal on wheels, but it sang to her as if it held all the answers. Laying her head against the window, she tried to insert the car into her memory; passing it on the way to Luke's early in the morning, sitting in the passenger's seat with the radio turned up. But the images fell flat, two dimensional and lifeless. She had never seen the car before today.

It hurt and she had no idea why. She was too weak and too empty to make herself get out of the car and storm back into the diner, demanding answers. She could only dig for her cell phone, press the speed dial, and wait.

"Hello?"

"Logan?" The second syllable cracked beneath the immense weight of speaking, and she coughed in a weak attempt to cover it up. "Can you meet me at my dorm in an hour?"

"I thought you were in Stars Hollow for the night."

She did her best to block out everything but the sound of his voice. She even turned in her seat, so Jess's car was to her back. "Please? Just meet me?"

"Of course," he said. "I'll see you soon."

-

It was ten minutes before she was okay to drive, twenty before she could gather the strength to turn the key, and thirty before she made it onto the highway. Her mind cleared as the heat of the car filled the interior, but there was nothing to reveal, no helpful hints, nothing solid. When she arrived at Yale, it took her a full minute to remember why she had driven there in the first place.

When she walked in, Logan was sitting on the floor in front of her door. "You beat me here." Her voice was stiff and lifeless, an effort dragged out of her. She didn't know why she was surprised.

"I was worried. You didn't sound right." He pulled her into his arms, dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Did something happen? Are you grandparents okay? Your mom?"

"They're – she – everyone's fine." She pulled away and unlocked her dorm.

He followed her inside, close behind. "Then what's wrong?"

She unbuttoned her coat, so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "I don't know. I…" She let the sentence hang as if he could finish it. She wasn't sure why she had run to him in lieu of someone else, like her mother or Lane, but he was so good at talking her out of her problems. He'd give her a new perspective, and suddenly all of her worries would seem so small. She wanted him to explain all of this to her; then he would fix it.

"I don't feel like myself." She wiped her mouth, the chapped rawness of a nervous habit. Her lips tasted metallic, but her confession tasted worse. "I haven't felt like myself in so long, I'm beginning to forget what it was like."

"Did something happen?" A failed class, a fight with her mother, a crisis with her major – these things he could handle. But somehow he knew it was something else, something worse – something he couldn't fix.

"Did I ever tell you what I wanted to do with my life?"

"You want to be a reporter," he said, hoping he was mistaken, that this was college-related, a bleak future he could laugh off. All it would take was a reminder of her brilliance, her talent, and they would be cuddling on the couch, kissing until this was forgotten. "The next Christiane Amanpour."

She thought she might cry again, but once more, the reason would be unclear. "Did you know I wanted to go to Harvard?" He shook his head. "Ever since I was a little kid, I was Harvard bound. I think it was because it seemed like it was the best school possible, and it was away from Stars Hollow."

"Makes sense," he said. "You wanted to go out on your own."

"The funny thing is…" She bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to admit this. It was scary, the ambiguity – the unknown. "I'm not even sure why I chose Yale instead." A blank spot, a black hole. She had the acceptance letter in her hand, suddenly she had a check in the other. "I made a pro and con list, but I don't remember why it won out. Why Yale instead of Harvard? That wasn't who I wanted to be."

"You didn't want to be the girl who chose Yale over Harvard? Or you didn't want to be a Yale student at all?"

"I feel like a part of me is missing. For a while, I thought maybe it was because I had made the wrong choice, maybe I belonged in Boston, but now I'm starting to doubt that too." She was off balance, she wanted to say. There was a skewed element in her life, a tilted axis. She was going to fall.

"Rory, you need to be a little more clear here." He wanted to hold her, hide her face in his chest, rub her back. He thought touching her would make her feel better; he didn't know what else he could do.

"I don't think this is me." There, the big confession; she had blurted it out. It still wasn't clear to Logan, but she had finally gotten it. "All these mistakes I'm making, these things I'm doing… it doesn't feel right."

"Ace," he said quietly. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"You don't understand. I never wanted to end a marriage or run off to Europe because everything was too hard. I never wanted to be part of the Yale elite, be some socialite for my grandmother to show off. I never wanted to attend those fancy dinner parties or have a – " She stopped herself just in time, but by the look on Logan's face he had filled in the blanks.

"A society boyfriend?"

"No." Her throat was dry; the word had to be forced out. "That's not what I meant." She wanted to say something else, explain herself properly, but she realized it was true. This life she was living wasn't what she had imagined for herself. It wasn't that it was bad, it was only that it was different, and she wanted to blame the emptiness on that. But whatever piece was missing was something bigger, something she couldn't fix. It was another hole, a dot she couldn't connect.

"I think I should leave."

"Please don't. I'm sorry. I don't what I'm saying."

"I think you should be alone," he said. "You need to figure this out."

"Logan, please."

The way she said his name, the desperation in her voice almost caught him. But in the end, he slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her briefly on the lips. "We'll talk later."

Once he was gone, Rory sank down on the couch, wishing she had said something else, wishing there had been something else to say.

-

She tore her dorm room apart. It took nearly three hours before everything she owned was strewn about the room, but nothing was answered. She didn't know what she had been looking for, a piece of Jess maybe, a sign of familiarity; an answer, a key. But there was nothing except her alarm clock blurring in front of her eyes, reminding her that it was four AM and she was crying again.

Whatever this was – sharp words, a warm touch, telling eyes – it was eating her up from the inside out, leaving bite marks on her skin. She knew there was something missing, she felt it – like an old song she had forgotten the words to – but that was all it was: a familiar tune too low and too muffled for her to make out.

In the end, she did the only thing she could think to do – she got in her car and headed back to Stars Hollow, just in time for breakfast.

-

Luke was in the midst of taking the chairs down when Rory came in. The bell startled him; he had unlocked the door but had yet to turn the sign.

"Coffee," she said.

"To go?" he asked automatically. He didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah." She dropped her purse on the counter and shoved a hand inside. "Is Jess here?"

"Jess?" Luke set an empty cup on the counter, frowning. "He went back to New York last night. Why?"

"No reason," she mumbled, failing to hide her disappointment. A yearning for answers roared within her, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Do you talk to Jess about me?"

Luke nearly dropped the coffee pot. He felt cornered even though Rory couldn't possibly understand the weight the question held. "Not really. Why?"

She nodded quickly, waving off the question as ridiculous. "Never mind." She began to remove items from her purse one by one in order to find her wallet. She took out her makeup bag and checkbook, her address book and planner. Luke watched her carefully, hoping she would elaborate on the topic of Jess. He knew something was going on; he had found the half empty mug of coffee left on the counter the night before. Jess had refused to elaborate, but his sour mood had said enough.

"What's that?" Luke asked. She had pulled out a crumpled pink card and was staring at it; she had drifted off.

It took her a moment to recognize it as the note she had stolen from Jess's apartment. She didn't even know why she had taken it, and until now, she had forgotten all about it.

"Rory?"

She set the card down, flattening it against the counter. The wrinkles were still prominent and the ink was smudged, but the words were clear.

_Dear Mr. Danes_

_Rory Gilmore has had Jess Mariano erased from her memory. Please never mention their relationship to – _

"Oh." Her gasp was small, weak. Luke didn't hear it; he saw it on her face. "Oh god."

"Rory?" He knew what it was, felt the stiffness of incrimination creeping over him. "Rory…"

"What is this?" She shook the card, showing it to him.

"Rory, look, your mother's upstairs, let me – "

"What relationship? What…" The card slipped from her grasp, but she didn't see it fall. "I met Jess last week. You introduced us right here!"

He held out his hands as if to placate her. "Rory…"

"I met him last week," she repeated. "I…" A sob ripped through her throat and she hid her face, wanting to disappear.

"You dated Jess in your senior year of high school," Luke explained softly.

"No," she whispered.

"He left before graduation, and you were upset."

She shook her head violently. "No!"

"Rory, he kept coming back and you wanted to forget him."

"I met him last week!" She began shoving everything back into her purse, the card trampled beneath her feet.

"Rory, you had a procedure, and – "

"I don't believe you." She tore away from him, heading for the exit. "None of this – "

"There's a letter," Luke said, catching her at the door. "In your mother's closet. There's a letter and a tape."

"What?" The world slipped out before she could stop it.

"All the patients' files were sent out last February, right before they went out of business. Lorelai couldn't bring herself to throw yours away."

-

"When he told me he loved me, his voice cracked, and he gave me this look… this _look_, and I thought – I knew – this was real. This was it."

A pause, a beat, two deep breaths.

"But then he drove away."

She had found the manila envelope on the highest shelf in Lorelai's closet, hidden behind ten years worth of _Cosmopolitan_ magazines. There had been a brief letter from a girl named Mary (_I'm so sorry for taking part in this / I thought you should know…_) and there had been a tape, a doctor's voice requesting information about a boy, the reasons why this had to be done, and –

"He asked me to run away with him and I saw it, I saw New York, I saw us. I had seen it since the day I met him." Static, silence, and she choked. "I used to want that with him. And for a moment, when he stood there, when he was just looking at me, I thought – I've made a terrible mistake."

She was crying, shoulders shaking, eyes squeezed shut. What day, what time, what year? She was crying on the tape, but the kitchen table was cold and solid beneath her fingertips.

"I think about it all the time. _All_ the time. I can't move on with him following me around. I see him everywhere – Stars Hollow, Hartford, _Yale_. He's not here." A breath. "He never really was. The day I met him, he already had his foot out the door."

This voice – her voice. She watched the cassette play, the magnetic tape curl, uncurl, twist and entwine. It was _her_ _voice_.

"I wish I had never met him. I wish – "

"Rory!" The door slammed behind Lorelai as she flew into the house. "Rory, are you here?"

"I love him," the tape whispered. "And I will do anything to stop."

Lorelai froze in the entrance of the kitchen. "Oh sweetie…"

"What is this?" Rory asked, wiping her eyes. "What did I do?"


	7. 7

Chapter Seven

She began at the base of her skull, kneading the tender skin of her neck. Using both hands, she combed through her hair, searching for an unnatural bump or abrasion. When nothing presented itself, she tried harder, nails digging into her scalp, catching the tips of her ears, tangling her hair. There were no scars or holes, no coin size dips; there was nothing to validate the story; her voice on the tape.

"I don't understand." She cut her mother off mid-sentence, interrupting the explanation Lorelai had been struggling to give. Rory turned from the window, pursed her lips, but Lorelai simply shook her head. "I don't…" she said again, but the words wavered off like a difficult confession, and the sentence was left unfinished.

"Rory." The tape recorder was behind Lorelai's back, but only partially obstructed; the manila envelope had fallen underneath the table, Mary's letter trapped underneath.

"I met him last week." She was a broken record of denial, her small frame hiding behind this flimsy excuse. And then, "I wouldn't do something like this." A subtle shifting of weight, fingertips clutching the counter. She was beginning to believe.

"You researched this. _We_ researched this." Lorelai kept dipping forward, almost undetectably, before settling back in her chair. She wanted to go to Rory, take her in her arms, but her daughter was hugging her knees to her chest, sitting on the kitchen counter. In the early morning light, she looked impossibly pale and lost, a comatose patient too long gone, finally awake.

"Something like this…" Rory was choosing her words carefully, trying to say the right things, ask the right questions. Dried tears had turned her skin to rice paper, stiff and fragile, crumbling with too much pressure. She was going to cry again. "It doesn't exist. It can't." She paused on the final word, made it count, reverberate like her voice had, the ghost voice on tape.

"Sweetie, we questioned the doctor in detail, we went to the office together. You, you asked for references but the doctor laughed because none of his patients could remember to suggest him." At the stiff silence, Lorelai looked away. "It wasn't funny then either."

"When?"

"When what?"

There were so many what's, but there was only one why that outweighed everything else. But Lorelai wasn't the person to ask; it didn't seem like she'd know. "When did this start? This idea? Something like this…" _Something like this_, her phrase of choice, as if she didn't know what to call it; couldn't bear to say it. "I wouldn't suddenly do it overnight."

"You discovered Lacuna in your freshman year. You were doing a research paper for your psychology class…something on the, um, hippo..."

"Hippocampus," Rory supplied.

"Yeah, something about that and the connection of the five senses with memory. Like how a certain smell can trigger one."

"I remember that class," Rory said softly. "But not the paper."

"I don't think you believed it. You just kind of filed it away in the back of your mind. You didn't even tell me about it until after – " She cut herself off abruptly but didn't bother trying to fill the gap with an excuse. There was nothing convincing she could say.

"After what?" Another what, never the why. The voice on the tape had said she loved him too much; her words brittle, her tone distant; symptoms of a broken heart.

"After Jess came back last February."

"Oh." She didn't turn her head. She was having trouble looking at her mother, looking anywhere beside out the window over the sink. The sun had risen, but she could still see the moon. "What happened?"

"He told you he loved you."

She pulled her lips between her teeth, nodded as if this was what she expected. "I can understand my pain. It's not everyday a boy confesses his love."

"You don't understand." Lorelai was sharp, defending her daughter's choice to the end result; the girl who couldn't know.

"I wouldn't, would I?"

"Don't say it like that! This isn't my fault. I didn't do this to you. It was your choice."

"But I don't understand why!" Palms face up, one leg dangling off the counter, the tip of her shoe brushing the floor; she was desperate and crying again; a sleep-deprived mess. "Why would I do this? What did he do? What could have happened? If he loved me…"

She didn't know what it was like to be in love, but whether this was a product of inexperience or the absence of memory, she couldn't be sure. With Dean, it had been new and exhilarating; the teenage definition of forever, stretching through high school; college on the horizon – blurry but promising. But the words exchanged had been expected and reused; pushed until it was an ultimatum. She couldn't know if it had been real with Jess; she didn't even know what it was with Logan.

Maybe she hadn't loved Jess at all. Maybe she was the one in the wrong, letting him down when he came back to tell her; breaking him with a shake of her head, tight lips terrified to tell the truth. Maybe it was guilt that had driven her to Lacuna, the need to forget the destruction of their relationship; her inability to fall in love.

But once again, there was the voice on the tape; her words, her pleading, her quiet desperation. She wondered about the pain that had driven her to do this, the agony of loss and requited feelings that weren't enough. She wondered how much she had cried over him and the reasons why. She wondered about the magnitude of all she had felt, the way it had filled her to capacity, so that she had to beg a doctor to remove him, to save her from remembering. She wondered if that was real love – this unbearable idea of loss.

"Rory, I don't know for sure what happened. He came back once more, to your dorm at school, but you never told me what he said. All I know is that he hurt you over and over again."

She had retreated back into herself, one arm tight around her knees, eyes trained on the kitchen floor. "I don't care why," she mumbled. "Just tell me when I had it done. That's my last question."

"Remember the opening of the Dragonfly?"

Her head flew up so fast it collided with the wall cabinet. Lorelai jumped to her feet, reaching for her daughter, feeling for a bump or blood through her hair. Rory didn't notice the pain, the resounding crack in the center of her skull or the tendrils trickling out like spider legs. She didn't even notice the forthcoming headache that had already manifested itself behind her eyes, settling along the bridge of her nose.

"Before or after?"

"Rory." She was petting her daughter's hair, still searching for signs of damage, but there was nothing external. She resisted the urge to hug Rory, knowing she would be pushed away.

"Before or after," she repeated through clenched teeth.

"The night before."

The breakaway was sudden. Lorelai had barely stepped back at Rory's sudden jerk, when the bedroom door slammed shut.

"Rory?" She knocked but there was no answer, and really, she hadn't expected one. "We didn't – the doctor said there was only supposed to be exhaustion. You would be tired and maybe a little confused, but it would all wear off within a few hours. He never mentioned that sleeping with your married ex-boyfriend was a possible side effect."

Rory opened the door, resting her head against its threshold. Her eyes were newly red, her lips wet from recent tears. "Why did it happen?"

"I think… I think you missed him."

-

This is what she remembered about that day: disappointment. She had woken with great regret, wanting to curl back into sleep, knowing she had abandoned a good dream. Its images were lost now, but she had the lasting feeling of elation; that she had been happy and it had been better than this.

The confusion and ache had come next with such velocity that she had to hold her head to keep the pain from spreading. It felt as if she had been shaken while she slept, her head an old attic filled with boxes that had been thrown about and knocked over, their content spilled along the floor. Pressing her palms to her forehead, she tried to reorganize, but her bedroom began to spin slowly, like the death of a merry-go-round.

She didn't know what it was, but she felt the difference, the lightness; a hospital patient waking up to find the operation a success but the loss devastating; a vital part of her was missing. She felt the disappearance of some internal organ; a loss of a kidney, the removal of the appendix; she laid a hand over the left side of her chest, feeling silly, but needing to make sure. The day had not even begun, and already she been knocked off balance, too exhausted and achy to get out of bed.

It only grew worse as the day progressed, the loss staying with her, filling up the newly hollow piece of her body. She missed it, whatever she had lost over the stretch of the night, and she wondered if this was only a delayed type of depression, the realization she had been making the wrong choices all along. Looking at her mother's success, comparing it to a disappointing freshman year, she wondered if maybe she was in the wrong place, taking the wrong classes, filling the role of the wrong person. She wasn't herself; she was lonely; she was confused; she was desperate.

And then she remembered Dean. She wondered if maybe he was the missing piece.

The yearn for familiarity, for the safety of an old flame; the desire to feel whole once again propelled her into his arms, and when he took off the ring and slipped his hands underneath her dress, she could almost feel her entire body calm, the hollow piece fill with something else, and for a little while, that good dream had returned.

It was several days before she realized she hadn't fixed anything, and the empty space hadn't gone away. It had only been distracted, and now it was filled with regret and guilt. Her headache lasted for a week.

Looking back now, she realized she wasn't remembering it wrong, but had misinterpreted her emotions at the time. Her mother was right. She had missed him. She had missed Jess dearly.

-

It rang six times, and somehow she didn't hang up. He picked up and said hello, but she was quiet. He repeated himself, and she sputtered out a greeting.

"Rory?"

She was surprised how quickly he recognized her voice; was flattered that he could pick her apart. She liked his voice even if it was still a foreign sound.

"Hi," she said again. "I – I broke into Luke's apartment and found your phone number."

"You what?"

"I guess I could have asked, but I really didn't want to talk to him. It was easy. I just waited for him to go into the kitchen and then I went upstairs. It was hanging on the fridge, and I just took it and left. No covert ops or anything."

"Oh." He paused. "Okay."

"Yeah." How could he have this conversation with her? How could he pretend like everyone else? She couldn't wrap her mind around this situation – his presence and words and the feel of his hand when Luke introduced them. She wanted to yell at him, beg him to tell her why he hadn't said anything. New York was such a cruel joke now; their time together felt falsified, a repeat of time; an echo of the past. It made her sick.

"Did you want something?"

"Yes. I just…" She heard him take a deep breath and wondered if that was what it was like for him to be around her. Always gasping for air, drowning in her presence. "Do you have any pictures of us?"

He dropped the phone; she heard the flash of air as she fell from his hand, and the plastic crack when it hit the ground. For a moment, she thought he had thrown it.

"Pictures?"

She imagined him sitting on the floor, cradling the phone, waiting for her to say something. She pictured the quiet, the sideways slant of his mouth, and wondered what it had been like to kiss him. She wished she had kissed him in the diner the night before, when he had reached across the counter. She wanted to know what it was like; she wanted to miss the sensation, instead of this hollow idea of loss.

"Pictures of you and me," she said. "When we dated in high school."

"Rory, what did you – "

"Just answer, yes or no," she begged, cutting him off. She couldn't stand a question or the explanation she would have to give. Her throat was sore again, the foundation for more tears. "Do you have any gifts or a card? Did you ever... write me love letters?"

He racked his mind, trying to make the mental jump to catch up with her. There were no pictures, no gifts, and no, he had never thought to write her a love letter. There was nothing he could think of, no lasting evidence he could offer to show that they had been together. He tried to think of something to say, something to give, but in the end, he could only come with one syllable, a small, pathetic, "No."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Okay. Never mind. I shouldn't have – "

He heard the finality, and he reached out, as if he could physically stop her. "Rory, don't. Don't hang up."

"God, I'm sorry, Jess. I don't even – I'm so sorry."

The dial tone blared but he could still hear her apology, her regret echoing in his head.

-

"Hey." Luke set a cup of coffee on the counter as Lorelai took her seat. "How is she?"

"Well, let's see," Lorelai mused, flipping her hair out of her face. "She cried off and on all morning, went out for a walk, and when she came back a half hour later, she locked herself in her room with the phone."

"I'm sorry I told her. I should have waited, let you – "

"No, it's okay. She was going to find out eventually with Jess hanging around. It's just… I thought this was the right thing, Luke. I thought this would be good for her."

"You couldn't know how this would turn out." He laid his hand over hers, leaving out the part where he never agreed with any of this in the first place. Forgetting wasn't natural, no matter the residual pain, but he said nothing, trying to be supportive. Now wasn't the time for wagging fingers and I-told-you-so's. It was done, and they had to deal with the consequences.

"Who do you think she's calling? You don't think she'd want to talk to Jess, would she?"

"She's probably trying to contact Lacuna and talk to them about what actually happened."

Lorelai's face brightened in a brief moment of optimism before slipping back into a frown. "Yeah. Probably."

"Good morning, big brother!" Liz exclaimed, entering the diner. "Morning, Lorelai."

"Hi, Liz." Lorelai forced a smile as the woman took a seat next to her.

"Luke, do you think you could get a couple of doughnuts for your little sister?"

"That depends; does my little sister have cash?"

"I'll pay you back! You know I'm good for it."

Luke opened his mouth to name at least five examples where she had been the exact opposite, but in the end, he shook his head, and went off to fill her order.

"So Lorelai, I wanted to know if you'd be interested in taking some yoga classes with me." Liz asked, turning to address her.

"Um, yoga?" Lorelai blinked, confused by the offer. She was too wrapped up in this morning's events to consider anything beyond it.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be this great form of exercise during pregnancy, not to mention a great stress reliever. I thought with the stress of running your inn and dating my brother, you might want to unwind once in a while." At Lorelai's silence, Liz hurried on, "I mean, you don't have to come every time. Just once in a while. It'd be a way for us to get to know each other, girl to girl."

Lorelai looked thoughtful, as if she was considering the offer. "Liz, do you have any pictures of Rory and Jess?"

"What?"

Luke echoed her question as he returned with a plate of doughnuts and a fresh pot of coffee. "Lorelai, did you just ask – "

"I was just curious," Lorelai said. "I think Rory's gotten nostalgic. And we don't have any."

"Ceremonial burning of the ex-boyfriend's stuff leave you without any?" Liz asked with a familiar smirk.

"Um, well…" Lorelai trailed off. "Something like that."

"It's okay, I know your daughter and my Jess didn't end on the best note." She thought for a moment, considering the scrapbooks she had purchased, the boxes of photos she had sitting in her bedroom. "You know, I think I have one."

"Really?" Lorelai was already standing, hand on her purse. "Can I see it?"

-

He had torn his apartment apart without any idea of what he was looking for. He already knew there were no cards or letters, small gifts he had bought her and taken back in the breakup. He wasn't that type of guy. She used to know that about him; she used to not mind.

He had upturned every drawer, torn through every cabinet, and sunk into a kitchen chair, head in his hands, when the obvious finally occurred to him. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before – maybe it was because she hadn't asked, hadn't _thought_ to ask – but he had his books. A few of them were hers, but that didn't prove anything; it was his handwriting all over each page. But there had to be a few – maybe just one or two – that contained snippets of her thoughts, her flowery handwriting crammed into a corner, wedged beneath his. He was halfway to the bookcase when the phone rang and he jumped, thinking it was her.

"Hello?" He hated the way his voice came out, squeezed and too small, like he had been waiting, like he was terrified.

"Hi, Jessie."

He sighed, the relief and disappointment too strong for him. He sat on the floor, in front of his bed, the bookcase inching into his peripheral vision. "Hi, Liz."

"So you're talking to me? You're not going to hang up."

"5, 4, 3…"

"Okay, okay. You're so testy. I just wanted to call you, say hi."

"Well, you said that already. Anything else?"

"Have you been bothering Lorelai's girl?"

"Excuse me?" He turned so he was face to face with the bookcase, eyes scanning the titles.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, have you seen her? Have you been talking to her?"

"Why would you ask that? I've been in town, like, twice. Both times on your orders."

Liz scoffed. "I did not order you. I merely asked that you – "

"Liz."

"Fine." She sighed. "Anyway, Lorelai asked me if I had any pictures of the two of you this morning."

"Pictures?" he echoed. There was that request again. She was trying so hard to dig up the past. He could feel the excavation, the horrid sunlight after being buried for too long.

"Are you talking to her again? I think it would be sweet if the two of you got back together. She seems like such a nice girl," Liz continued, oblivious to her son's discomfort.

"Did you give her any?"

"Well, I only had one. I have this picture of Luke in a party hat from his birthday. Turns out that you and Rory are in the picture too. You're in a booth in the corner, completely wrapped up in each other, but you can tell it's you two."

Jess let out a slow breath, trying to get used to this idea. He remembered the ridiculous picture of Luke, the circle of him from one of Liz's collages on the wall. He and Rory had been there too, their half hidden by the decorative wood.

"Oh." It was all he could manage to say.

"I hope you don't mind that I gave it to her. I know you two had a bad break-up but I figured if she _wanted_ to see it, it was because she missed you or something."

"Missed me. She doesn't – "

"I know, I know," Liz said. "You two have been broken up for a while, and I know it was bad. So bad that Luke asked me not to mention you in front of Rory, but – "

"Wait," Jess cut in. "Luke asked that you didn't mention me?"

"Yeah. And I didn't."

"Luke _asked_ and that's it. There was nothing else?"

"What else would there be? Luke said Rory was upset, and I shouldn't bring you up. I can manage to do that, Jess. I'm not completely incapable of keeping my mouth shut."

"I – I know." The sudden rush of warmth for his mother startled him. He hadn't expected it, but he welcomed it as he worked out what her words meant. _She didn't know_. _She had never known_. There was a smaller thought, barely a whisper; it was telling him that she never would have done it; she never would have kept him a secret. It was why she didn't receive a pink card, why Luke hadn't thought to tell her the truth. With Luke, he had been split between Jess and Rory, trying to do the right thing for both of them, but with Liz, Jess was her first concern. And she wouldn't have done it. _She didn't even know_!

"Look, Jess, I wanted to invite you back down here to the house. Try to make up for our last visit? You know, Rory is having a birthday party this week. Why don't you have lunch with me and then go and crash her party?"

"Liz…"

"I want to see you, even if I'm just an excuse for you to see her."

"Liz, I – sure. I'll come down."

"Yeah? You'll have lunch at the house with me and TJ?"

"Sure."

"And you won't make inappropriate comments about TJ's newest career choice?"

"What is he – never mind. Whatever it is, I'll keep it to myself."

"Good. So we're agreed?"

He had finally found Atonement, remembering her sly smile as she gave it back after a weekend of borrowing it. He remember her playful words written inside, the way it had started a silly war between them. He had more books like that; just a sentence or two from her, a flirtatious game they had played. It was enough.

"Yeah, we're agreed."


End file.
